


A Lion in Highgarden

by bnsolo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Gen, Non-Canon Relationship, Politics, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bnsolo/pseuds/bnsolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War of the Five Kings may be over, but the Lannisters still need House Tyrell. To strengthen their alliance, House Lannister sends its last daughter to wed the future Lord of Highgarden and save her family. But will she learn to love her future husband? And can she guide herself and her House through the wars to come?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Wedding in Sunspear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4903933) by [Julia_Martell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Martell/pseuds/Julia_Martell). 



> This is my first ever ASoIAF fic, and my first time writing in a while, so please bear with me. I've tried to keep everything as canon-compliant as possible, but please tell me if you spot any inaccuracies. It takes place a few months after the events of A Dance with Dragons, so if you spot anything that doesn't seem to fit with that timeline, please also tell me. This is greatly inspired by julia_martell's amazing fic A Wedding in Sunspear, which you should go read. Constructive criticism is absolutely welcome, and thank you very much for reading!

Dramatis Personae  {Note:  **bolded** are actually present, [bracketed] are deceased}

The Bride:  
**Celia Lannister** , a maid of eight-and-ten, ward of Lord Tywin Lannister

Her Family:  
[Gerion Lannister], her father, lost at sea  
[Lady Briony Marbrand], her mother, died in childbed

 

[Lord Tywin Lannister], her uncle and guardian  
[Lady Joanna Lannister], his wife, died in childbed

  * Queen Cersei Lannister, Dowager Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, twin to Ser Jaime
  * Ser Jaime Lannister, called the Kingslayer, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, twin to Queen Cersei
  * Tyrion Lannister, called the Imp, missing presumed dead
  * Sansa Stark, his wife, also missing



[Ser Kevan], her uncle, Lord Regent of the Seven Kingdoms  
Lady Dorna Swyft, his wife

  * Lancel Lannister, his son, Lord of Darry
  * [Willem Lannister], his son, twin to Martyn
  * Martyn Lannister, his son, twin to Willem
  * Janei Lannister, his daughter, a maid of three-and-ten



Lady Genna Lannister, her aunt  
Lord Emmon Frey, her husband

  * [Ser Cleos Frey], her son
  * Jeyne Darry, his wife
  * Tywin Frey, his son
  * Willem Frey, his son
  * Lyonel Frey, her son
  * [Tion Frey], her son
  * Walder Frey, her son, called Red Walder



[Ser Tygett Lannister], her uncle, died from a pox  
**Lady Darlessa Marbrand** , his wife

  * Tyrek Lannister, his son, missing presumed dead since the King’s Landing riot
  * Lady Ermesande Hayford, his wife, a babe



**Ser Damon Lannister** , older brother to Lady Joanna  
Lady Ella Lannister, his wife

  * Ser Damion Lannister, his son, castellan of Casterly Rock
  * **Lady Sheira Crakehall** , his wife
  * **Ser Lucion Lannister** , his son
  * Lanna Lannister, his daughter, m. Lord Antario Jast



[Ser Stafford Lannister], younger brother to Lady Joanna, died at the Battle of Oxcross

  * Ser Daven Lannister, his son, Warden of the West
  * **Lady Cerenna Lannister** , his daughter, a woman of three-and-twenty
  * **Lady Myrielle Lannister** , his daughter, a maid of five-and-ten



**Damon Marbrand** , Lord of Ashemark, her grandfather

  * Ser Addam Marbrand, his son and heir



Her Ladies and Companions:

 **Lady Darlessa Marbrand,** her aunt

 **Lady Sheira Crakehall,** her cousin 

 **Lady Cerenna Lannister,** her cousin

 **Lady Myrielle Lannister,** her cousin

 **Lady Alysanne Lefford,** Lady of the Golden Tooth

 **Septa Evelyn** , her septa

 

The Bridegroom:  
**Willas Tyrell** , heir to Highgarden, five-and-twenty

His Family:  
Lord Mace Tyrell, his father, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, Hand of the King  
**Lady Alerie Hightowe** r, his mother  
**Ser Garlan Tyrell** , his brother, Lord of Brightwater Keep

  * **Lady Leonette Fossoway** , his wife



Ser Loras Tyrell, his brother, called the Knight of Flowers, a brother of the Kingsguard  
Queen Margaery Tyrell, his sister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms  
**Lady Olenna Redwyne** , his grandmother, called the Queen of Thorns

 **Lady Mina Tyrell** , his aunt  
**Lord Paxter Redwyne** , her husband

  * **Ser Horas Redwyne** , her son, twin to Hobber
  * **Ser Hobber Redwyne** , her son, twin to Horas
  * **Desmera Redwyne** , her daughter, a maid of seven and ten



**Lady Janna Tyrell** , his aunt  
**Ser Jon Fossowa** y, her husband

 **Garth Tyrell** , his great-uncle, called Garth the Gross, Lord Seneschal of Highgarden

  * **Garse Flowers** , his natural son
  * **Garrett Flowers** , his natural son



Ser Moryn Tyrell, his great-uncle, Lord Commander of the City Watch of Oldtown

  * [Ser Luthor Tyrell], his son
  * **Lady Elyn Norridge** , his wife
  * **Ser Theodore Tyrell** , his son
  * **Lady Lia Serry** , his wife
  * Elinor Tyrell, his daughter, handmaiden to Queen Margaery
  * **Luthor Tyrell** , his son
  * Maester Medwick, his son, a maester of the Citadel
  * **Olene Tyrell** , his daughter
  * **Ser Leo Blackbar** , her husband
  * Leo Tyrell, his son, called Lazy Leo, studying at the Citadel



Maester Gormon, his great uncle, a maester of the Citadel

[Ser Quentyn Tyrell], a cousin of Lord Mace, slain at the Battle of Ashford

  * Ser Olymer Tyrell, his son
  * Lady Lysa Meadows, his wife
  * Raymund Tyrell, his son
  * Rickard Tyrell, his son
  * Megga Tyrell, his daughter, handmaiden to Queen Margaery



Maester Normund, a cousin of Lord Mace, in service at Blackcrown

[Ser Victor Tyrell], a cousin of Lord Mace, slain by the Smiling Knight  
**Victaria Tyrell** , his daughter

  * [Lord Jon Bulwer], her husband
  * **Lady Alysanne Bulwer** , her daughter, the Lady of Blackcrown



**Ser Leo Tyrell** , his son

  * **Lady Alys Beesbury** , his wife
  * Alla Tyrell, his daughter, handmaiden to Queen Margaery
  * **Leona Tyrell** , his daughter
  * **Lyonel Tyrell** , his son
  * **Lucas Tyrell** , his son
  * **Lorent Tyrell** , his son



 

The Wedding Guests - Lords of the Westerlands:

 **Damon Marbrand** , Lord of Ashemark

 **Quenten Banefort** , Lord of Banefort

 **Tytos Brax** , Lord of Hornvale

  * Ser Flement Brax, his brother and heir
  * Lady Morya Frey, Ser Flement’s wife
  * Robert Brax, Ser Flement’s eldest son, a page at Casterly Rock
  * Walder Brax, Ser Flement’s second son
  * Jon Brax, Ser Flement’s youngest son



**Roland Crakehall** , Lord of Crakehall

  * **Ser Tybolt Crakehall** , his eldest son and heir
  * Ser Lyle Crakehall, his second son, called Strongboar
  * Ser Merlon Crakehall, his third son



**Terrence Kenning** , Lord of Kayce

 **Alysanne Lefford** , Lady of the Golden Tooth

 **Lewys Lydden** , Lord of the Deep Den

 **Garrison Prester** , Lord of Feastfires

 

The Wedding Guests - Lords of the Reach:

 

**Lord Arthur Ambrose**

  * **Lady Alysanne Hightower** , his wife
  * Alyn Ambrose, their son, a squire



 

 **Lorent Caswell** , Lord of Bitterbridge and Defender of the Fords

 

 **Leyton Hightower** , Lord of the Hightower, called the Old Man of Oldtown

  * **Lady Rhea Florent** , his fourth wife
  * **Ser Baelor Hightower** , his eldest son and heir, called Baelor Brightsmile, m. **Rhonda Rowan**
  * Malora Hightower, his eldest daughter, called the Mad Maid
  * **Alerie Hightower** , his second daughter, m. Lord Mace Tyrell
  * **Ser Garth Hightower** , his second son, called Garth Greysteel
  * **Denyse Hightower** , his third daughter, m. **Ser Desmond Redwyne**
  * **Leyla Hightower** , his fourth daughter, m. **Ser Jon Cupps**
  * **Alysanne Hightower** , his fifth daughter, m. **Lord Arthur Ambrose**
  * Lynesse Hightower, his sixth daughter, m. Ser Jorah Mormont; now concubine to Tregor Ormollen in Lys
  * **Ser Gunthor Hightower** , his third son, m. **Jeyne Fossoway**
  * **Ser Humfrey Hightower** , his fourth son



**Arwyn Oakheart** , Lady of Old Oak

  * [Ser Arys Oakheart], her youngest son, a brother of the Kingsguard, slain by Areo Hotah in Dorne



**Paxter Redwyne** , Lord of the Arbor

  * **Lady Mina Tyrell** , his wife
  * **Ser Horas Redwyne** , his son, twin to Ser Hobber
  * **Ser Hobber Redwyne** , his son, twin to Ser Horas
  * **Desmera Redwyne** , his daughter




	2. Celia I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia leaves the Rock to start her life as the future Lady of Highgarden. While everyone around her seems delighted by her betrothal, Celia herself is not so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. This took about 3 weeks and several re-writes, which may not be a good omen for the rest of the work, but nevermind, it's here now. Please enjoy!

 

The day Celia left the Rock dawned misty and cool, the weak sunlight turning the mists that flowed down the mountains to rivers of pale gold. The Lower Yard was buzzing with activity, the walls of the cavernous courtyard echoing with shouts, the clatter of hooves and piercing whinnies as Celia’s guard mounted up, grooms and manservants dashing back and forth with pieces of tack and chests of clothes. Celia sat cocooned in the enormous red wheelhouse with its gilded wheels, wrapped in a warm red wool cloak, Septa Evelyn with her embroidery in her lap opposite her. The nerves that had flooded Celia’s stomach all day had prevented her from eating a thing at breakfast, and she huddled further down into the folds of the cloak, feeling utterly dejected. Saying goodbye to the castle and its inhabitants had been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. The thought of never again seeing Marya, Cook, Maester Creylen, the kitchen girls and worst of all, the Small Library filled with all her favourite books, filled her with abject misery. Maester Creylen had allowed her to pack a few of her favourites, but Septa Evelyn had not approved, saying she couldn’t spend all her time with her nose buried in a book when she got to Highgarden. _We’ll see about that_ , Celia had thought, uncharacteristically rebellious.

She stifled a yawn as Septa Evelyn stuck her head out of the window, anxious to be gone.

“Dear me, whatever’s taking so long?”

“Don’t worry, septa,” said Ser Lucion from atop his blood bay destrier. Ser Lucion was Celia’s cousin, the leader of her honor guard, and one of the handful of Lannister relatives that would be accompanying Celia to Highgarden. Most of her extended family were scattered across the Seven Kingdoms by the war. “We’ll be off soon enough, once the gate’s open.”

The Inner Gate of Casterly Rock was a massive contraption of wood and iron that spanned the entire entrance to the natural cavern which was the Lower Yard. Opening it was a ceremony of grating metal cogs, creaking chains and groaning wood which took several minutes to perform, but as the huge door slowly inched its way upwards, Celia was treated to the sight of the dawn sunlight flooding in through the gap, illuminating the cavern. It was a beautiful day, sunny but still cold, misty and bright. Before them was spread the tableau of golden mountains, a few already capped with a sprinkling of snow, the high road winding its way through the tall peaks. To the left of the Rock was the road Celia’s party would take, the Ocean Road, the fastest and safest way to the Reach. As they clattered over the lowered drawbridge, out of the passage they called the Lion’s Mouth and onto the road, Celia turned and strained out of the window to catch a glimpse of her home. Casterly Rock loomed over them still, but as they drew off with a clamour of shouts, trumpets and waving banners, the castle began to recede. Celia stared as long as she could, until Septa Evelyn said, “Really, Celia, must you stare at it the whole journey? You won’t be gone forever, you know. I’m sure your lord husband will allow you to visit.”

 _But it won’t be the same. I’ll never be a child there again, running through the halls. I’ve lost it all forever_ , Celia thought to herself, but said instead as she turned back: “I’m sure you’re right, septa. I will miss it, though.”

“Yes I’m sure you will, child, but you must endure it,” replied Septa Evelyn, going back to her sewing as if that settled the matter. There had been an awful lot of talk about endurance lately, ever since the announcement of Celia’s betrothal to Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden.

Celia had spoken not a word of protest since she had been told, too scared to even talk of it. She had simply done as her septa advised and endured, all through the dressmakers fussing over her new wardrobe and the whirlwind of preparations and the endless congratulations and talk of future happiness and children. She had carried on enduring, right up until that morning, when she had woken up and suddenly realised she was to be whisked away from her home and everything familiar, to be sold to a stranger and live in a strange place leagues and leagues away, at which she had promptly burst into tears. Even in as she sat in the wheelhouse as it bumped and rattled its way along the road, she knew her eyes were still red. Everyone had told her how lucky she was, that it was a very fine match, that if her parents were still here they would be very proud, and Celia had tried to believe them, but she didn’t feel lucky. She felt used - like a cyvasse piece being placed around the board against her will.

Only one thing that anyone had said had stuck in her mind and given her strength. Celia’s hardest goodbye had been to her parents, in the crypt deep within the bowels of the Rock. She had laid a posy of lady’s lace on her mother’s tomb, as she had every time she visited since she was a child. She never knew why lady’s lace in particular; perhaps someone had told her that her mother liked them. Celia had never known Lady Briony herself - she had died giving birth to her. As Celia laid a hand on her father’s empty tomb, her aunt Genna had appeared in the doorway.

“I thought I might find you down here.”

“I was just saying goodbye.”

“Good. This may be your last chance to visit them in a long time.”

Celia looked at her aunt for a long moment, trying to hold back her tears. Lady Genna noticed her niece’s mood immediately and took her in her arms.

“There now, sweetling. There’s no need to cry.”

“I don’t know what do. I don’t want to _go_. I don’t even know him! What if he’s cruel, or ugly- what if he doesn’t like me?”

Lady Genna pulled back to look Celia in the eyes. “Stop this nonsense at once,” she said firmly but not unkindly, holding Celia at arms length. “Sweetheart, I know how difficult this is. Believe me, my marriage was not an exciting prospect for me either. But I bore it, no matter how terrible it seemed at the time, because I remembered one thing: I am a Lannister. A lioness, a daughter of the Rock. When you get to Highgarden, you’ll be lonely, you’ll be scared, you’ll be surrounded by strangers. But you must always remember who you are. Not a Tyrell, a Lannister.”

Celia nodded shakily. Lady Genna smiled at her. “After all, what can some silly golden flowers do to a lioness?”

Celia remembered her aunt’s words as the Lannister procession made its ponderous way down the Ocean Road to Highgarden, the sun turning the waves into smooth blue glass. The mists had all burned away by midday, and although the air was still chilly, the day was fine enough. Celia stared out of the window of the wheelhouse all day, musing on her future in Highgarden. She had never seen the castle nor heard what it looked like, and she didn’t know quite what to expect. All she knew was it was bound to be beautiful; the Tyrells were the second richest family in Westeros, and they loved to remind people at every chance they got.

Celia’s stomach growled, and she began to regret not eating anything at breakfast. The further they got from the Rock, the calmer she felt, the rocking of the wheelhouse soothing her, but nevertheless her apprehension remained as the day wore on. By nightfall, they had long since left the Rock behind, and Ser Lucion informed them that they were making good time. Even so, it would be weeks before they even got close to Highgarden.

It appeared that Septa Evelyn had planned exactly how they were to spend those weeks, a prospect that did not thrill Celia.

“Just because we are no longer in the castle does not mean I intend to neglect your studies,” her septa said primly as they set off once more at dawn. “I have endeavoured these last few months to prepare you for your duties as a new bride, but I fear you still need my guidance. You still show little aptitude for the high harp and the bells, and though I’ve long given up hope of you mastering arithmetic, I still think you can improve your needlework - Celia, are you listening to me?”

Celia raised her head from her book. “Hmm? Oh, yes, septa.”

“Put down that book at once and look at me when I speak to you. What is it, anyway?”

“A history of the Reach, septa. I thought it might be useful to become more familiar with the place I am to call home.”

“Yes, for sure - although your lord husband will be in charge of all political matters. You needn't bother yourself with all that. All you need concern yourself with is being a dutiful and obedient wife and mother.”

Celia cringed inwardly. Whenever someone mentioned children or motherhood, a thrill of fear went through her. They were all dancing around the subject, but Celia was no fool. She knew what having children entailed, and she did not look forward to it. She dare not voice these concerns, though, for she knew what the answer would be - she must endure.

“Yes, septa.”

“Now then, to business. This long journey is the perfect opportunity for you to practise your needlepoint, I think. Have you brought the piece you were working on?”

Celia let out an audible groan then. Three whole weeks of sitting in a wheelhouse practising her sewing while her septa tutted and fussed? _As if the situation were not dire enough_ , she thought bitterly.

“Celia Lannister, do not make that face at me. Ladies do not make faces, and neither do they groan. Now, let me see how far you’ve gotten with this piece.”

Celia resigned herself to a long, boring journey.

“Yes, septa.”


	3. Willas I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Highgarden, Willas faces the challenge of hosting a wedding in the last days of war, with his family under threat from all sides.

Alerie Hightower looked nervously up at her son as he stood, simmering with barely suppressed rage, by the window in his father’s solar.

 “Willas, please, sit. Standing there can’t be doing your leg any good, and you’re making me nervous.”

 Willas ignored her, not trusting himself to speak. She was right, his leg did hurt, but he couldn’t bear to sit down, as angry as he was. The atmosphere was tense and fraught, as it had been ever since the raven had come from Casterly Rock.

 The tense silence was broken by the door being flung open and his grandmother, Lady Olenna, tottering in, flanked as ever by her twin guards.

 “Damn you, Willas, why on earth did you make me climb all those flights of stairs for some silly tantrum?” she snapped, collapsing on one of the chairs.

 “This is more than a tantrum,” he replied, his anger barely in check. “What in seven hells is Father thinking, accepting this Lannister marriage?”

 “For once he is using his head. This marriage is necessary, even your father can see that.”

 “Necessary? How? They got Margaery for Joffrey first and now Tommen as well, isn’t that enough?”

 “You forget, it was _us_ that forced Margaery on _them._ I suppose it’s only fair that they force a wedding on us in turn.”

 “Fair? How is it fair to force us to host a wedding here, with Margaery imprisoned and Loras dying on Dragonstone? The Shield Islands are under attack, the Ironborn could be sailing up the Mander as we speak, and yet the Lannisters expect us to put all our troubles on hold for their damn marriage? Seven hells, the least they could do is allow us a year, a few months even.”

 Lady Olenna seemed less than impressed with this outburst.

 “Are you quite finished?”

 “Well, I don’t think I’m being unreasonable,” Willas snapped in reply.

 “Yes, you are. We forced them to marry Margaery to Tommen. Now they are doing the same to us. I call that fair play. You’re just unhappy because you weren’t allowed to choose the girl yourself, but you needn’t fret, I’m told she’s quite beautiful.”

“You know that’s not what I’m worried about,” sighed Willas.

 He _was_ worried about that, but it was less pressing to him than the small matter of spending the rest of his life with a stranger. How could they expect him to welcome and get to know his future bride in only a few short weeks, when he could barely think straight as it was? This wedding had brought on a whole host of problems, so soon after the news of Margaery’s arrest and Loras’ terrible injuries, and Willas was already feeling the strain of hosting such a huge event. Even in the last days of war, the wedding of a future Lord Paramount was an extravagant affair, and scores of landed knights, minor lordlings sworn to House Tyrell, and junior members of great houses had already arrived and created a city of silk tents and fluttering banners below the walls of Highgarden. And House Tyrell’s more powerful vassals had not even arrived yet. Willas had no idea how he was to house and feed them all. Lord Hightower had already announced his intention to bring almost his entire family with him; his wife, eight of his children and their spouses too.

 “I don’t even understand why we must put on such a show. Don’t you think it’s a little distasteful, when people are starving up and down the Seven Kingdoms?”

 “Now you sound like that dreadful High Sparrow. Would you have us all go barefoot and in rags to your wedding?”

 Willas shifted his weight from one leg to the other and glanced despairingly at his grandmother.

 “Please, Olenna,” said Lady Alerie quietly. “Don’t speak of all that trouble now.”

 Willas glared at his mother. “And when should we speak of it, mother?” he snapped, feeling uncharacteristically cruel. “When Margaery is a head shorter and King’s Landing burnt to the ground?”

 Lady Alerie looked up in shock at her usually gentle and soft-spoken son. Lady Olenna tutted and shook her head.

 “No need to take that tone. She’s right. We must put aside our troubles for now and concentrate on this wedding. It’s our chance to show the Lannisters we’re still powerful and stable enough to match them.”

 Willas knew that she was right. Their position was a wildly unstable one, their alliance with the Lannisters a hair’s breadth from collapsing. This marriage was vital, if the Tyrells and the Lannisters were to maintain control of Westeros. That didn’t mean Willas had to like it, though. He would put aside his feelings and play the gracious host and joyous bridegroom, but the second it was over, he intended to focus all his energy on keeping Margaery safe and the Ironborn out of the Reach. A part of him felt pity for his future bride; she would be plunged headlong into the troubles of House Tyrell without a second to get used to her new life, but it couldn’t be helped. Westeros was in chaos - there was no time to spare.

 As his lady mother and grandmother left, Willas’ steward, Sinclair, slipped into the room. Willas sighed internally. He had hoped for a few moments rest at least, but it seemed that even as his wedding approached, he must still be a slave to his duty. He sat down heavily, glad of the opportunity to at least rest his leg.

 “My lord, I’m sorry to bother you…”

 “What is it, Sinclair?”

 “We’ve finally had word from the Westerlands about which lords will be attending the wedding.”

 “Ah, I see. Well, don’t keep me in suspense. How many, and how much will they cost us?”

 “Lord Marbrand, Lord Banefort, Lord Brax. Lord Crakehall, and his son Ser Tybolt. Lord Kenning, Lady Lefford, Lord Lydden, and finally, Lord Prester. Eight in all.”

 “And I assume we’ll be getting their household knights as well?”

 “It would seem so, my lord. Their knights and men-at-arms will camp outside the castle walls, but we’ll have to find rooms for the lords.”

 “Of course. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

 Already Highgarden was housing four of House Tyrell’s vassals; Lord Ambrose and Lady Oakheart had arrived one month past, and Lord Redwyne’s family had arrived a week before Lord Paxter himself had sailed up the Mander with his fleet, stopping for the wedding on his way to retake the Shields. And that wasn’t even mentioning the hoards of Tyrell relatives that had descended like a plague of locusts on the castle.

 “Well, my lord, it may be. We have yet to find a place for Lord Hightower’s party. We’ll need seven rooms, one for each of them and their spouses, and Lord Hightower will be offended if we don’t find him spacious apartments. With so many extra people in the castle…”

 “Say no more. Garlan’s rooms are occupied once more, and we’re already preparing Margaery’s for Lady Celia...but Loras’ rooms are unoccupied. I know it might seem a little distasteful, but if we’ve really nowhere else to put him…”

 “I’ll have them prepared immediately, my lord. There is one other thing…”

 Willas sighed again. “Yes, Sinclair?”

 “We’ve had word from Ser Lucion Lannister that your bride’s party have left the Rock and are making good time towards Highgarden. They should be here in a few weeks.”

 A feeling of dread settled in Willas’ stomach, but he pushed it aside. “Good. Ensure that everything is made ready for Lady Celia. Her arrival is the priority, see to her needs before any of the guests.”

 “As you say, my lord.”

 Sinclair bowed as he took his leave, and Willas sat in silence for a moment, pondering the arrival of his bride. Many people had told him of her rumored beauty, but not a word was said of her character, and Willas couldn’t help but worry. He wanted to like the girl, to make her feel welcome, but he wasn’t sure he could fake affection if he didn’t truly feel it. He dreaded the awkward and embarrassing few weeks that were no doubt to come. She would feel terrified, taken so far away from her home and made to spend the rest of her life with a stranger, and Willas wanted to alleviate her fears and give her comfort, but he wasn’t sure how. He wished, not for the first time, that he could speak to his sister Margaery. She would roll her eyes and tell him to simply have patience and be gentle, but he wished she were here to welcome his bride and help him get to know her. His sister was clever and sharp, but she could also be nurturing and kind when she wanted to be. He missed her every day, and worried about her constantly.

Willas pushed those thoughts aside. Margaery may not have been safe at home, but she was guarded by Lord Tarly, and for the moment, she was being taken care of. Willas knew that however much he may have wanted to order Margaery back to Highgarden and safety, he could not. All he could do was focus on strengthening House Tyrell, and the best way to do that was his marriage to Celia Lannister.


	4. Celia II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia's first impression of Highgarden is less than encouraging.

Celia’s first view of Highgarden came as the wheelhouse bumped and groaned its way up the wide, sweeping road, surrounded by cheering smallfolk gaping and waving, desperate to catch a glimpse of the future Lady of Highgarden. The Lannister procession was small and meagre compared to the huge display they might have put on in peacetime, but their welcome to the Reach was no less warm because of it. They had been feted and feasted at every holdfast they had come to along the Ocean Road, and Celia was exhausted from the endless socialising before they’d even gotten close to Highgarden itself. How she was to bear the endless feasts and dances, culminating, of course, in her wedding, she had no idea. Determined to show no fear at the prospect of meeting her future husband for the first time, she straightened her back and patted her hair to ensure the complex nest of braids that crowned her head were still in place as the wheelhouse clattered over the drawbridge and drew to a shuddering halt in the yard, the horses snorting and stamping.

Highgarden was nothing like the Rock, Celia mused. The Rock was a towering behemoth, its towers and crenellations hewn straight from the rough stone of the mountain, whereas Highgarden was a shining white palace straight from the songs, with slim graceful towers and battlements all chased in silvery stone. Tyrell banners fluttered gaily from every tower, golden roses on an emerald background. The Lannister retinue looked quite out of place against all that green.

Ser Garlan Tyrell reined up beside the wheelhouse and dismounted to open the door and help Celia alight. His party had met them on the road to Highgarden and had escorted her to the castle. Her stomach swooped with nerves as she took his hand, but she endeavoured to ignore it. _You are a lion of the Rock, and they are nothing but silly golden flowers. They will tremble before you, not the other way round._

Her future husband waited on the steps in front of the huge doors of Highgarden’s entrance chamber, leaning on a cane and surrounded by his household. Celia forced herself not to look at her shoes, but instead hold her head high as she approached on Ser Garlan’s arm. _A lion,_ she thought desperately, _I am a lion, brave and fierce._

“May I present Lady Celia Lannister, ward of Lord Tywin. Lady Celia, my brother Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden.”

Celia barely heard him, focused as she was on the face of her future husband. _He is better looking than I dared hope,_ she thought, blushing ever so slightly. _Even so, he may be cruel or stupid, and I will have to bear him, whatever his faults._ He _was_ handsome though, with shining brown curls swept off his forehead, high fine cheekbones, and smiling dark eyes. _Kind eyes,_ Celia thought.

“My lady,” he said softly, kissing her hand. “Highgarden is made brighter by your presence.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, her own voice quiet and soft to her ears. “I am overjoyed to be here.”

He released her hand almost as soon as she said the words and turned to introduce his mother Lady Alerie and the other members of his household, allowing Celia a moment to think as she smiled politely and accepted the kisses and bows of the assembled throngs of Tyrells. He wasn’t ugly, that much was true, but she was wary still. The Tyrells may have been allies to the Lannisters, but Celia was no fool. She knew she couldn’t trust them.

Celia, Septa Evelyn and her little party of red cloaked guards were ushered through the huge double doors into the vast entrance chamber. The floors and walls were polished marble, hung with yet more Tyrell banners. The vaulted ceiling was light and airy, carved with flowers and vines, as were the pillars and the bannisters of the sweeping staircase that led to the upper floors of the castle. To the right were another pair of doors that led to the Grand Hall, to the left was the audience chamber. Everywhere were displays of the Tyrells’ wealth: rich tapestries, crystal vases overflowing with autumn flowers, gilded hunting horns hung on the walls. Celia couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all, but she was guided by Willas Tyrell’s arm linked through hers. He said nothing as they passed through the enormous room, his face stern and closed off. Celia opened her mouth to say something, her heart thumping in her ears, when suddenly he stopped and turned to her.

“You will have to excuse me, Lady Celia. My steward will escort you to your rooms,” he said briskly. Celia was left, red-faced and taken aback, at the bottom of the stairs as her husband to be walked away. His steward escorted her upstairs as she fumed silently. _How dare he? I am to be his wife, has he no regard for me?_

Her room was lovely, at least. She had never slept in a tower before, and the view from her balcony over the Mander was stunning. The room was light and airy, fresh flowers arranged in vases on every surface. Her maid helped the Tyrell manservants bring her cases in as Celia sat on the chaise, glowering. Septa Evelyn bustled in, red-faced and sweating from climbing the winding staircase. When she spotted Celia’s scowl, she stopped.

“Oh, my dear, I know. It was dreadfully rude of him, but I’m afraid you must bear it with grace.”

“Must I? I don’t see why. Clearly he doesn’t care about offending me, why should I care about his feelings?”

“Because, child, you are a lady. You must act like one, whatever comes. While you are here, you must be thinking at all times of the honor of your House and how to uphold it.”

Celia sighed deeply. “Yes, septa. I’ll try my best.”

“Well done, child. Try to see you get some rest before the feast tonight. I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” her septa said, making her way to her room, which was connected to Celia’s. Celia’s stomach began fluttering with nerves once again.

“The-the feast? I had forgotten…” _What am I going to do? They’ll make me sit next to him, how am I supposed to spend a whole feast with someone who refuses to even look at me? How am I supposed to spend a whole_ lifetime _with him?_

Silently, she allowed her maid to undress her and crawled into bed, determined to get some rest and conserve her strength for the battle that was no doubt coming.

 


	5. Willas II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willas meets his betrothed, and Ser Garlan brings ominous news to Highgarden.

 

The morning his bride arrived, Willas woke with a sick feeling of apprehension in his chest. All morning, he didn’t know what to do with himself. At first he stayed in the library, trying to read, but within a few minutes his nerves forced him to abandon the attempt. He strode nervously from room to room, silently thanking the Seven that his leg wasn’t hurting as much as it could, at least not yet. It varied from day to day; today, he could walk quickly and with relative ease despite his limp, but some days his leg was so stiff and painful he couldn’t move it at all. Thankfully, today was a good day. He didn’t know what he would have done if he’d been forced to meet his bride with his leg in agony.

When the Lannister retinue finally arrived, Willas felt a great sense of relief that his torturous wait was over, coupled with the sick feeling of renewed nervousness at the prospect of making a good first impression on Celia Lannister. It wasn’t as if he’d never been in a situation like this before; as the heir to Highgarden he’d been a sought-after match since he was a child, and he’d been introduced to many girls with the expectation that he might marry one of them. However, he’d never been very good at charming them - he always came off as too serious and bookish, or cold and unfeeling because of his nerves. If he gave that impression today, it would make the next few weeks very awkward.

Celia Lannister arrived with a blare of trumpets and the sound of clattering hooves, the great red wheelhouse travelling a wide circuit around the yard before drawing to a halt. Willas swallowed his nerves as his brother Garlan dismounted and opened the door, helping the young lady inside to alight. She was as slender as a reed, with long white-gold hair braided at the top and flowing in waves down her back, clad in a long dress of red and gold. Even from his place at the top of the steps, Willas could see that she was lovely, which only made his nerves worse. He’d always had the worst trouble talking to the pretty ones.

Garlan introduced them, and Willas focused on remembering his courtesies, trying not to be distracted by her big green eyes gazing up at him. Even so, he heard himself stumble over the words as he took her hand and kissed it. She didn’t smile, and replied in a voice so soft and faint Willas scarcely heard her. _She’s just as scared as I am,_ he realised suddenly. Somehow that made it a little better. He felt more confident as he introduced his mother and grandmother to her, but as he was about to turn back to Lady Celia his brother caught his arm.

“I need to talk to you,” Garlan said in a low, urgent voice.

“Can’t it wait? I should stay with her, show her to her rooms.”

“You’ll have to leave her, I’m afraid. It’ll look bad, but this can’t wait, I’m sorry.”

Willas frowned at his younger brother. “It’s really that serious? What happened?”

“Later, in Father’s solar. I don’t want the whole castle overhearing this.”

Dread settled in Willas' stomach, and his mind reeled with the possibilities of what terrible news Garlan had heard on the road. _Loras is dead….Margaery’s been found guilty...Father’s been killed…._

He walked Lady Celia into the castle still absorbed by his own thoughts, barely aware of her presence beside him. When they got to the bottom of the staircase he saw Garlan at the end of a side corridor and let go of her arm, glancing at her for a second before dismissing her. He felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at her surprised and embarrassed expression before pushing it down. _It can’t be helped. I’ll apologise later, at the feast._

Willas joined Garlan in the solar and his brother waited before closing the door behind his mother and grandmother, who also joined them.

“I hope you have a good reason for forcing me to very rudely abandon my future wife,” said Willas with more force than he intended. Garlan gave him an apologetic look.

“I do. We received word on the road from Brightwater Keep that Ser Kevan Lannister was found dead.”

Silence settled over the little group as each of them took in exactly what that meant. Lady Olenna was the first to recover.

“Damn. Ser Kevan was the only thing keeping Cersei Lannister in check. With him gone, there’ll be no-one left to take charge in King’s Landing but her, Seven save us.”

“What does this mean for our alliance?” Willas asked quickly.

“You mean what does this mean for your marriage?” Olenna replied. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. I hope you’re not too attached to the girl already, because soon we may be forced to abandon the Lannisters and find an ally elsewhere.”

 _Well, at least my offending her is the least of our worries now,_ Willas thought grimly. “We can’t just break off the betrothal. She’s already here, it’s happening.”

“We may have to. If the Lannisters lose control of the Iron Throne, what good are they to us?” Lady Olenna shot back.

“It’s irrelevant. With Margaery wed to Tommen and me betrothed to Lady Celia, we’re with them now, for good and all.”

“Marriages can be undone. Margaery is still a maiden, which is a miracle in and of itself, so we can easily have her marriage dissolved. Her position is weak anyway, now that the Faith has levelled its charges against her and Cersei Lannister is once again in position to be Tommen’s regent. And you are not yet wed, so any promises we made to the Lannisters regarding that can be broken at a moment's notice.”

Lady Alerie interjected. “We mustn't be too hasty. This may not be the end of the Lannisters, and until we are certain they’re no longer useful, we should keep them close. We have a few weeks until Willas’ wedding, we should use the time to decide what to do. We can even delay the wedding if we must.”

Garlan nodded in agreement, and even Lady Olenna seemed content with that, but Willas had his misgivings.

_She came all this way, far from her home and the people she loves, to wed a stranger who barely acknowledged her at their first meeting, and now she may not even get married? It seems cruel to lead her on if we only intend to abandon her when she’s no longer serves our purpose._

Consumed with guilt, he walked back to his rooms to prepare for the feast. Sitting next to Lady Celia all night after he’d snubbed her that morning would be agony, especially now that he knew his family was planning not to go through with the wedding at all, but it would give him a chance to apologise at least.

The castle was buzzing with activity as hundreds of wedding guests prepared for the feast, servants dashing back and forth running errands and fetching pails of hot water. Willas climbed the steps to Lady Celia’s room with growing apprehension once again. How he would be received, he had no idea, but imagined something like stony silence and glares, and he couldn’t blame her. In her position, only the Seven knew what he’d do.

He made himself known to the red-cloaked guard outside her door and waiting, fidgeting nervously, for her to come out.

When she appeared in the doorway, Willas was once again rendered speechless. She was dressed in a gown of red silk, with a wide skirt and fitted bodice embroidered with glittering gold thread, and sleeves that encased her slim arms to the wrists but left her shoulders bare. The front of her hair was arranged in a complex updo, secured by ruby topped pins, with the back left to tumble down her shoulders in smooth, shining waves. A necklace of rubies set in intricate goldwork encircled her neck. She looked glorious, but cold, with not a hint of warmth in her pale green eyes.

Willas swallowed. “My lady, you look exquisite,” he said, well aware that he sounded ridiculous, trying to make up for his earlier offence with empty courtesies.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied in a flat voice.

“I - I must apologise for my earlier behaviour. It was unforgivable, but my brother needed to speak with me urgently and it was unavoidable.”

She seemed mightily unimpressed with this excuse, but not a hint of it was betrayed by her speech. “I understand, my lord. It is forgotten.”

Willas felt sure it was not, but she took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the Grand Hall all the same. It had been decorated with red and gold roses especially in her honor, with the lion banner sharing a place beside the gold rose of Highgarden. They entered the hall first and took their places on the dias in silence, as his mother entered, escorted by Lord Marbrand, Lady Celia’s maternal grandfather, then Garlan with Lady Shiera Crakehall, Lady Leonette with Ser Lucion Lannister and finally Willas’ grandmother, alone but for her twin guardsmen. When they were all seated, the feasting began in earnest, and the long hall rang with shouts, laughter and music.

Willas picked at his food and tried to think of something to say to his betrothed, who sat by his side in silence, eyes on her food, avoiding his gaze. He could feel how uncomfortable she was, and he longed to say something that would put her at her ease, but he could think of nothing. To her left, Willas’ mother engaged Lady Celia in polite conversation, and she replied with grace, but it seemed her heart was not in it and within minutes they were back to silence, punctuated only with the shouts and laughter from the lower tables. The courses dragged on and on, until finally the last of the meal was cleared away and the music changed. People began to stand up from the tables and move towards the open space in the middle of the hall. Lady Celia sat up when she noticed what was happening, and for the first time Willas saw a genuine smile light up her face.

“Is it time for the dancing?” she asked with almost child-like happiness.

“Do you enjoy dancing, my lady?” he replied, pouncing eagerly on the new topic of conversation.

“I adore it,” she said with genuine feeling. “Do you dance much, my lord?”

Willas felt his face turn red. “No, I’m afraid not, my lady. My leg, you see…”

Lady Celia’s face fell and she blushed prettily. “Oh, how silly of me...of course...forgive me, my lord.” She lapsed back into silence again, watching the swirling figures dancing below the dias with a glum expression. Willas felt a surge of embarrassment. He’d just found out about something she enjoyed, finally something that could make her happy, and he couldn’t use it. He felt utterly useless.

“Please, my lady,” he said quietly, “Don’t deny yourself on my account. I’m sure every man in the hall is dying to dance with you.”

A ghost of a smile danced around her full lips. “Thank you, my lord.”

First to approach her was Garlan, but he was not the last. As Willas had predicted, almost every man in the hall wanted a dance with the future Lady of Highgarden, and she obliged each of them with perfect grace. He watched her twirl around the hall, an elegant swirl of red and gold, and felt a pang of sadness. He didn’t know her at all, but he felt that given the time he could come to care for her, even love her. But it was more than likely he would never get the chance. Besides, he didn’t think she wanted him. Perhaps she would only be too glad if the betrothal ended.

Unable to bear watching her any longer, Willas slipped from the hall and went to bed.


	6. Leonette I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Leonette gets to know Celia, and discovers the truth about the Lannister-Tyrell alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more difficult to write than I was expecting, given the lack of information about Leonette Fossoway, so if you see anything I've gotten wrong about her, please let me know!

Leonette shivered as she stepped out of her bath and allowed her maid to wrap her robe around her shoulders, the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. She picked out her favourite dress to wear at breakfast that morning, light green satin trimmed with Myrish lace, wanting to make a good impression. She checked her reflection in the mirror before she left - her dark hair was neatly braided back with green ribbons, and a slim silver chain with a jade pendant hung around her neck.

Leonette usually broke her fast with her husband, but today all the ladies in the castle had been invited to breakfast by Lady Alerie, to properly introduce young Lady Celia and her ladies, Lady Sheira Crakehall and Lady Alysanne Lefford, to the women of the household. Leonette couldn’t help but feel excited; she loved meeting new people, and she hadn’t had the chance to talk to Lady Celia beyond their introduction the day before. Last night she had watched the younger girl dancing, and reflected that she seemed nice enough, but very quiet. This morning was her chance to know her better.

When Leonette got to Lady Alerie’s private garden, where the breakfast was being held, she found that several ladies were already there; Lady Alerie herself, Lady Olenna, Lady Mina and her daughter Lady Desmera, and Lady Janna. Most of these women had been with Queen Margaery in King’s Landing, but when the Faith accused the queen of adultery, many of them had left for the safety of Highgarden. Only those who had been accused alongside their queen had remained; Alla, Megga and Elinor Tyrell. Leonette prayed to the Maiden every day for those poor girls.

Leonette sat down next to red-haired, giggly Desmera Redwyne as a crowd of other ladies filtered in. She pitied poor Celia Lannister - trying to remember all the names of the various Tyrell women and their relations to each other gave Leonette herself a headache, and she was one of them. She knew Lady Janna, who was married to Leonette’s uncle Ser Jon Fossoway, and Ser Gunthor Hightower’s wife Lady Jeyne was a red-apple Fossoway. Lady Arwyn Oakheart was seated opposite her, Lady Alerie at the head of the table with Lady Olenna at her right, and her sisters Leyla, Denyse and Alysanne clustered around her. Seven spaces had been left for the Lannister women; Lady Alysanne Lefford, Lady Sheira Crakehall, Lady Darlessa Marbrand, two Lannister cousins Leonette did not know, Lady Celia herself and her septa. They would surely feel very lost surrounded by the huge crowd of Reach ladies, who numbered at least twenty by Leonette’s count.

The women chatted amongst themselves as they waited for the food to arrive, and Leonette watched as Lady Celia and her ladies arrived last. The bride-to-be was dressed in a flowing gown of pale blue samite trimmed with blue Myrish lace, her blonde curls held back by a sapphire clasp. Her ladies were mostly older than her - Lady Lefford was tall and stately with long grey hair, Lady Sheira petite and brown-haired with smile lines around her eyes.  Lady Celia’s septa was a tall, stout woman with wispy grey hair escaping from beneath her habit and an anxious expression. Lady Darlessa brought up the rear of the group, with two pretty blonde girls who must have been the bride's cousins.

They all paused before the table, Lady Celia’s green eyes darting around anxiously as she weighed up her options. Leonette felt a surge of sympathy for her - she must have felt so lonely, surrounded by strangers, confused by their strange customs. She raised a hand to attract the Lannister girl’s attention.

“There’s a space by me, my lady.”

Lady Celia gave Leonette a shy smile and slid into the seat on her left, motioning her ladies to take their places as well. Leonette gave her a welcoming smile.

“How have you found Highgarden so far, my lady?”

“The castle is beautiful,” Lady Celia replied in a soft voice. “And its people have all been very kind. I’m so happy to be here.”

Leonette sense the lie in that last part. When she herself had come to Highgarden from New Barrel she had been anything but happy to be there. The castle was gorgeous, and its people had been welcoming to her, but the misery of leaving her childhood home had been unbearable at first. She was sure it must be a thousand times worse for Celia Lannister, whose family was scattered across the Seven Kingdoms by war and killed by traitors.

“We were all so sorry to hear of Ser Kevan’s death, my lady. You have my condolences.”

Lady Celia’s lip wobbled a little and her eyes grew wet, and Leonette worried she had made a mistake mentioning the death of the Lord Regent. But Celia seemed to regain control of her emotions.

“Thank you, my lady. I hope the recent tragedies will not overshadow my joy at the prospect of my wedding.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the food, but Lady Celia barely looked up at the flurry of activity all around her. Leonette wondered why she seemed so quiet and reserved; perhaps that was just her way, but Leonette had seen her become vibrant and full of life and energy when she danced at the feast. She hoped it was nothing to do with Willas - she had seen him run off when Lady Celia arrived, and at the feast they barely talked. Leonette didn’t like the look of that. Willas was a kind and clever man, but he had a habit of isolating himself from others when under pressure, and often it led to disastrous consequences. Now, more than ever, he should be surrounding himself with friends and family, allowing them to share his burdens, but since the news came from King’s Landing of Margaery’s imprisonment Willas had kept his own company, refusing help from Garlan and his mother and grandmother. The pressure of ruling Highgarden in his father’s absence was getting to him, even Leonette could see it. Everyone had hoped the arrival of his betrothed might distract him, but it seemed that Lady Celia’s presence had just made everything worse.

From two seats up the table, Lady Olenna had engaged Lady Celia in conversation. Leonette cringed inwardly. Lady Olenna was alright once you got to know her, but she was an acquired taste to say the least, and her interrogation of Leonette when she first arrived was still fresh in her mind after all these years.

“I suppose you must find Highgarden very strange after all those years at the Rock. I’m afraid we don’t play the Rains of Castamere nearly as often as you’re used to.”

Lady Celia smiled. “In truth, my lady, it’s a relief to hear some other songs. One can get rather tired of hearing about how your House massacred another.”

Leonette was shocked. She had expected quiet, shy Celia to cave when faced with the formidable Queen of Thorns, but she seemed to be holding her own quite well. Even Lady Olenna laughed.

“Well said, child. I think you and I will get on splendidly.”

“I think so too, my lady.”

Leonette leaned over and whispered in Celia’s ear. “Well done. I’ve never seen anyone handle her so well.”

Celia giggled. “She is a bit of a terror, isn’t she?”

Leonette had to laugh at that. “Yes, but she’s also frightfully clever. I like her very much, now that I’m used to her.”

Lady Alerie interrupted them. “So, Lady Celia, how are you getting on with my son? Are you both head over heels already?”

Celia blushed prettily and looked down at her plate. “Willas is very...kind, my lady.”

“Is that what you call abandoning you at your first meeting and leaving your welcome feast early? Kindness?” scoffed Lady Olenna.

Lady Celia looked faintly ill, pushing her food listlessly around her plate, and Lady Alerie looked appalled. “Olenna, please!”

“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. It’s no matter, with time he’ll come round. But why pretend he likes her now when he clearly doesn’t?”

Lady Celia stood up abruptly from the table. “Ladies, pray excuse me,” she said with an undisguisable wobble in her voice, and hurried from the garden, leaving her septa and ladies left looking mightily confused. Leonette was the first to get up and follow her, motioning Celia’s septa and Lady Darlessa to sit back down. “Don’t worry, ladies, finish your meal, I’ll see to Lady Celia,” she said quickly, racing to catch up with her.

She found her in the East Library, crying on the window seat. Leonette immediately sat beside her, and Celia allowed her to wrap her arm around the younger girl’s slender shoulders and hold her.

“There now, don’t cry. She’s like that with everyone, you mustn’t let it get to you.”

“B-but she’s right,” Celia choked out through her sobs. “He hates me.”

“That’s not true! Willas doesn’t hate anyone, especially not you. He even forgave the man that crippled him, there’s no chance he feels hatred towards his own bride.”

“But he doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t _know_ you,” Leonette reminded her gently. “I’m sure once he gets to know you, he’ll care very much for you. You seem like a perfectly lovely person to me, what reason should he have to be displeased with you?”

Celia looked up at her and wiped her tear-streaked face with her sleeve. “You think I’m lovely? Thank you, my lady.”

“Please, call me Leonette. And yes, I like you very much, even though I’ve only known you a short time. I’m sure the longer I talk to you, the better I’ll like you.”

Celia smiled through her tears. “You’re very kind, my - Leonette. Was your arrival at Highgarden this hard?”

Leonette thought for a moment. “No, not so hard. We were at peace then, not long into the reign of King Robert, so there wasn’t so much pressure on Garlan and I to hold our families together. We had more time to get to know each other before the wedding as well, almost three months. And Garlan is not so difficult to get to know as Willas. He’s more open, less serious and guarded. From the very beginning, we were comfortable around each other. And of course, Garlan and I are closer in age than you and Willas. The first few weeks are awkward for everyone though, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You and Willas just need to spend more time together.”

Celia sighed. “That’s just it. He won’t spend time with me. He all but ignored me at the feast, and he left early.”

“With respect, perhaps you’re being too hard on yourself? You’ve only been here a day, remember. Give it a little time.”

Celia seemed cheered by that. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose I was put off by our first meeting, but now I see it’s unreasonable to expect us to be close right away. Thank you, Leonette.”

“It was my pleasure.”

 

That evening, Leonette had her meal with Garlan as they did every night. She sat in silence and listened to him talk about his preparations to retake the Shield Islands, thinking about poor Celia Lannister and the way Willas treated her. It was unlike him to be anything but courteous and kind, and she worried that something was amiss that she wasn’t aware of.

“Leonette? Are you alright, my love?”

“Mmm? What?”

Garlan sighed. “You’re not eating, you’re just sitting there staring into space. What’s on your mind, sweetling?”

Leonette sighed. “I talked to Lady Celia today.”

“Good, how is she settling in?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid. Willas has been neglecting her, and your grandmother said some very insensitive things about it to her over breakfast.”

“Ah, I see. Grandmother does struggle with being sensitive. Has she recovered?”

“Yes, but I’m worried. Willas does have a habit of shutting himself away with his work, but it’s not in his nature to hurt the feelings of such a sweet young girl. Is there something going on?”

Garlan sighed heavily. “I really shouldn’t tell you this…”

“Garlan, please. The poor girl is distraught. If there’s a good explanation for Willas’ behaviour, you must tell me.”

“Fine. Ser Kevan’s death has jeopardised our alliance with the Lannisters, and Willas is wondering whether it’s in our best interests to go through with the wedding.”

“You mean Lady Olenna is wondering if it’s in our best interests,” Leonette shot back. She could see Olenna Tyrell’s handiwork all over this. “Garland, you can’t let this happen. Not when the poor child’s suffered so much. It’s cruel.”

“I know, I know, but it can’t be helped,” her husband replied, passing a hand over his face. “It’s a bad situation all right. But who knows, maybe it will come out fine.”

“At the very least, Willas could act like he intends to go through with it,” Leonette snapped, feeling unsympathetic towards her goodbrother. “It’s not fair to keep the girl dangling on a string like this, ignored and pushed aside.”

“I think Willas wants to keep himself from getting too attached, in case it does all fall through,” Garlan mused, but when he saw his wife’s expression, he yielded. “Alright, I’ll talk to him. I can’t promise anything though.”

Leonette beamed at him. “Thank you, my love.”

Garlan smiled back at her. “It’s touching, how you care for the girl. You have such a sweet nature.”

Leonette blushed. “She reminds me of my sisters. She’s so gentle and innocent...but clever, too. If we ever have daughters, I’d want them to be as kind and clever as Celia Lannister.”

“ _When_ we have daughters,” Garlan corrected her gently. “They will come, love, in time. We are still young.”

Leonette nodded, feeling suddenly very melancholy. It was a great source of misery to her, that she and Garlan had been wed so long with no progeny.

“Speaking of children,” Garlan said with a twinkle in his eye, “Shall we retire, my lady?”

Leonette felt herself go red again. Even after all this time, Garlan could still make her feel like a blushing maiden. Garlan rose and kissed her tenderly, then took her hand and led her to their bedchamber.


	7. Celia III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia and Willas finally talk, but Celia is left even more confused than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter has been such a long time coming, I've had terrible writer's block. But it's finally here, and it's a long one by my standards, so please enjoy!

Celia pushed open the door to the library and slammed it shut behind her, breathing a sigh of relief. Escaping Septa Evelyn had been a difficult task, but she was free at last. The library seemed to be holding its breath, a calm oasis of silence filled with golden sunlight in the chaos that was a castle preparing for a wedding. Even in the midst of the hectic preparations, Celia’s septa had still found time to torture her with lessons, but at last Celia had found some solitude. The East Library was the smallest and most secluded, Leonette had told her, and had a secret room hidden behind a bookcase that only residents of the castle knew about. Celia moved from shelf to shelf, looking for books to take with her into the secret room, where she planned to spend the rest of the day reading, hidden from Septa Evelyn’s frantic searches for her.

Finally, she settled for a history of the First Blackfyre Rebellion and a thick volume of legends surrounding Garth Greenhand and his children, and started her search for the book Leonette said would open the door to the secret room. She found it quickly - a slim blue book with silver letters down the spine - “A History of Secret Rooms and Hidden Passageways”. Smiling to herself, she pulled it out and heard a soft click. A few rows along, a section of the bookshelf swung back to reveal a cozy little room, crowded with green velvet chairs and lined with yet more bookshelves. Celia jumped in surprise as her betrothed rose from one of the chairs with a look of shock that no doubt mirrored her own.

“I - I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

“It’s fine, my lady - I’ll leave if you like.”

“No, no please. Don’t go on my account.”

They stood staring at each other, red-faced and awkward, for a long moment. Finally, Willas broke the silence.

“How did you know about this room, my lady?”

Celia hung her head shyly. “Lady Leonette told me about it. I wanted to be alone for a little while.”

“I’ll leave you be then, my lady. You must be exhausted by all this fuss being made, I know I am,” Willas replied, making for the door, but Celia had a burst of confidence and laid her hand on his arm, halting him.

“No, please, stay,” she said softly, staring at the floor. She could feel herself going bright red.

“As you wish, my lady,” Willas replied gently. “What is it you were planning to read?”

Celia showed him the books piled in her arms, and was pleased to see him smile.

“Good choices. Do you know much about the history of the Reach?”

She nodded. “A little. I asked Maester Creylen to teach me when...when I learned I was to come here.”

“We have a fairly comprehensive collection of books here, I’m sure you’ll be able to learn a lot more.” Willas walked out into the main room of the library and beckoned Celia to follow him.

“If it’s history that you’re especially interested in, we have some rare volumes on the days of the Conquest, and the reigns of Maegor the Cruel and Jaehaerys the Conciliator,” he said, showing her to the shelves groaning with leather bound books. Celia smiled, feeling happier than she had in weeks.

“These are wonderful,” she sighed, running a finger down one of the spines.

“I didn’t know you liked reading so much, my lady.”

“Oh, yes,” Celia replied with enthusiasm, forgetting her shyness at once. “I used to spend all my time in the library back at Casterly Rock. My wet nurse used to say that my mother must have swallowed some candles and a book when I was in her womb.”

Willas smiled warmly at her, and Celia felt her heart beat a little faster. “We have that in common, I think,” he said. “What sort of things did you read, at Casterly Rock?” he enquired, moving back to the secret room and settling in one of the chairs. Celia followed him, and sat down in the opposite chair.

“My favourite was a collection of myths and songs from the Westerlands,” she replied, growing more at ease the longer they talked. “I always loved reading about ancient heroes and their adventures, even when I found out not all of them were true.”

“Yes, I always found that part disappointing. That’s why I prefer to read about real kings and warriors. I’ve found that sometimes, real life can be just as exciting as myth.”

“Yes! Like the stories of Prince Aemon and Queen Naerys, or Daeron the Young Dragon conquering Dorne.”

“Exactly. When we were younger, Garlan and I said we wanted to be just like the Dragonknight.” Willas’ expression grew wistful. “It was Loras who ended up the hero, though.”

“You must miss him dreadfully,” Celia said quietly, unsure how to proceed. Dying brothers were not something one talked about two weeks from one’s wedding.

“As you must miss your family,” Willas replied after a pause, clearly eager to talk of something else. “Do you have any brothers, my lady?”

“No, but I have plenty of cousins to make up for the lack,” she smiled.

“Are you close to them?”

“To some, those that spend time at Casterly Rock. I was never permitted to travel far from Lannisport. I know Ser Kevan’s children best of all, since he was castellan for a while, before the war. Tyrek, who was the son of my uncle Tygett, before he went away to serve in King’s Landing. And my uncle Tywin’s children. Tyrion lived at Casterly Rock when I was growing up.” She stopped short then. She had suddenly realised that of the family she had named, one was dead, and the other two missing. She lapsed into silence.

Willas frowned. “Forgive me, my lady. I should have realised that talk of your family might sadden you. Believe me, I know your pain.”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“Perhaps we might talk of something else? May I ask why you never travelled?”

Celia gave him a grateful smile. “My mother was not a healthy woman, and when I was a young child I too had ill health. My father feared that I would die if exerted too much, so I never set foot outside the Rock until I was four years old. By then I had grown more robust.”

“Thank the Seven, or else you would not be here now.” His face reddened, but Celia smiled to show she knew what he meant.

“It must have been lonely, spending your days shut indoors,” he ventured.

“Not especially. The Rock is always full of people, not just members of House Lannister but others as well, children of lesser lords or landed knights sent as squires or cupbearers. I was friends with all the servants as well, and their children. And I had Tyrion. Once, I had to spend almost the entire year in bed, brought down with some pox or fever. I was always getting fevers. Tyrion spent almost every day with me, teaching me how to read.”

Celia smiled at the memory. She could not have been more than three, in the early days of King Robert’s reign. Her father was gone from the Rock - whether he had been off fighting or not, she could not be sure, her memory of those days were so hazy with time and fever. Of one thing she was sure, though - Tyrion had scarcely left her side. All through the ravages of her fever, he had endeavoured to entertain and cheer her, teaching her to read all his favourite books, telling her tales of this king or that knight. She had been heartbroken when the Rock received word of Tyrion's supposed treason. She had sworn to Maester Creylen and Septa Evelyn that he could not have done what they said, it was impossible, but Septa Evelyn had simply told her that she should accept the judgment of her lord uncle, who no doubt knew more about it than she did. Celia had gone to bed bitterly angry that night.

Willas was smiling at her. “You remind me of Margaery. I read to her as well, when she was little, but as she got older she told me she was too grown-up for bedtime stories.”

Celia laughed. “I was never too old for stories. I used to pester my father for them too...until he left.”

“And now I’ve made you sad again. You must forgive me, my lady.”

“No, no, not at all. I haven’t felt sad about my father for a long time. I cried a lot when he left, and later, too, when we got word that his ship was lost in the Smoking Sea. But then I realised he wouldn’t want me to weep. Father was always laughing, and trying to make others laugh. Me especially. He would have wanted me to be happy, even without him. But here I am, talking your ear off about my childhood, and I haven’t asked about yours.”

“There’s not much to tell, to be honest. I was raised the way most highborn boys are raised. My father wanted me to be a great knight, Leo Longthorn come again, but unfortunately I have always been more the scholarly type. You know what became of my father’s hopes, of course,” he said with a rueful smile, tapping his crippled leg.

“I haven’t heard that story, my lord. If you don’t mind telling it, of course,” Celia blushed. She wanted him to keep talking, she found; it had been so easy to talk to him about her childhood, and she wanted to know more about his. _He is gentle, and courtly, and more interesting than I had dared hope. Thank the Seven, I may be able to make something of this marriage yet._

“It was my first tourney, and one I had no business being in, if truth be told. I was too young, too inexperienced, and no great talent in the lists in any case, but I wanted to please my father. It wasn’t Prince Oberyn’s fault. He knocked me off, but it was chance that my foot caught in the stirrup. I should’ve worked myself free, but I let the poor horse drag me instead, and dragged him down with me. And the rest of it you know.”

Celia was astonished. “You bear him no ill will, even though he knocked you down?”

“Not at all, it was my own fault. Prince Oberyn was a fascinating man, and a good one. He even had his own maester attend me after, but there was nothing that could be done.” Willas shifted in his seat and rubbed his leg, as if remembering the pain of that day. “I was sad to hear of his death. He was a good friend, and I have so few of those these days.”

Celia watched him for a moment, as he stared off into the distance, his comely face dark with sadness.

“I hope you will consider me your friend, my lord, and someone to rely on when you need,” she said softly. Willas looked up, into her eyes, and Celia saw a brief glimpse of something like regret in his deep brown eyes, before he turned away from her. Where before he had seemed so open and friendly, he was now closed off, like a door had slammed.

“I thank you for your kind words, my lady,” he said stiffly, rising. “Pray excuse me, I fear I have neglected my duties today.” Before Celia could say a word, he had left the room. She heard the door of the library slam shut behind him.

She walked back to her chambers in a haze of confusion, pondering their conversation and what she could possibly have said to make him clam up like that. Was it talk of his accident? But he had seemed perfectly at ease as he talked of it, amused by his own folly even. When she entered her chambers, she found Septa Evelyn, positively incandescent with rage.

“Celia Lannister, where have you been!?”

“Pardons, septa. Lord Willas was showing me the East Library.”

“You were together? Unchaperoned?” Septa Evelyn’s voice became shrill with panic.

“I should think that at eight-and-ten, I am old enough to speak to my betrothed without a chaperone,” Celia snapped. “Excuse me, septa, I feel suddenly very tired.” And with that, she swept off to bed, leaving her septa red-faced and spluttering with rage.

But long after the sun had set over the river, sending beams of shivering red and gold light playing on the walls of her chamber, Celia laid awake in her bed, pondering her conversation with her betrothed and its strange and abrupt ending; until at last she sank into a dark and dreamless sleep.

 


	8. Willas III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willas tries to make the situation more bearable for Celia, but as their relationship becomes closer, he only makes his own choice that much harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is an unusually long one for me, coming in at just over 9 pages. And so soon after the last chapter! I'm proud of myself! 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this one, it has some of my favourite moments to write so far...

The woods flashed by in a blur of summer green and autumn gold, and the dead leaves that carpeted the floor crunched under a hundred feet as the hunters moved through the trees, merlins and falcons perched on their arms. Willas walked slowly at the back of the group, immensely grateful that his leg offered him an excuse to stay as far away from Celia Lannister as possible. She was at the front of the group, surrounded by a chattering crowd of her relatives. Willas could see his goodsister Leonette by her side as well, her head bent as she leaned over to say something to Willas’ betrothed. Lady Celia’s hair was a glowing crown of gold, lit up by the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the leafy canopy, contrasting sharply with Lady Leonette’s dark braid as they talked with their heads together. Willas tore his eyes away from her as his brother hung back to talk to him.

“Enjoying the view?” Garlan jested, seeing where Willas had just been gazing. Willas simply glared at him in reply. When he saw Willas’ expression, Garlan’s face also fell.

“Have you even talked to her?”

“Yes,” Willas replied gruffly, unhappy with where this conversation was going.

“And?”

“And...and it’s no use, is it? Every day we get closer to the wedding, and every day I’m still no closer to making a decision. Nothing good can come of getting to know her if we don’t wed.”

“And if you do decide to marry her in the end? What then? You’ll have a wife who thinks you hate her. I’m sure that will make for a wonderful wedding night.”

Willas groaned out loud. “Exactly. No matter what I do, I end up doing the wrong thing. In truth, I don’t even know why it’s up for dispute. The girl is _here,_ and some of the finest warriors in the Westerlands are with her. If I spurn her, it’ll mean war with House Lannister, and we cannot afford that.”

“Then make a decision. Tell Grandmother you’re marrying her, and put an end to the discussion once and for all.”

“I can’t do _that_ , either,” Willas despaired. “You must swear not to tell her this, but Grandmother has a point. House Lannister is not as strong as it once was, and if we should be forced to abandon them, my marriage to Celia may prove...difficult. But that’s all speculation. As it stands, the Lannisters are still in power in King’s Landing, and I would be a fool to discount them entirely. The Reynes and the Tarbecks thought that the power of Casterly Rock was spent as well...until Tywin Lannister took the field.”

He had said all of this with his eyes on the horizon, but when he looked back at his younger brother he saw Garlan was grinning at him.

“What?” Willas asked warily.

“It’s _‘Celia’_ now, is it? Not _‘the girl’_?”

“Oh, shut up,” Willas retorted lamely.

Garlan shrugged. “Anyway, what does all of that matter? Tywin Lannister is dead.”

“True...but his children still live. We would be fools to underestimate House Lannister.”

Willas thought of the story Celia had told, about the year she had spent bedridden with a fever, and her cousin Tyrion. _If the Imp still lives somewhere, he is the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock...and if he should come back to claim his title, I may be glad I wed his favourite cousin._

Garlan glanced at him uncomfortably. “Listen...don’t get angry, but…I need to tell you something.”

_Seven hells, now what?_ “I can’t promise anything, but go on.”

“I...I may have told Leonette about our doubts about the wedding.”

“What? Why?”

“Lower your voice! Do you want the whole hunt to hear us?” Garlan at least had the good grace to look sheepish. “She was worried about the Lannister girl, you know how she is. I thought it wouldn’t harm if I told her. She’s not like to spread it around the castle.”

“And if she tells Celia?”

“She’s not stupid. She knows what’s at stake here, she would never breathe a word of what I told her.”

Willas didn’t doubt Lady Leonette’s intelligence, only her soft heart. “See that she doesn’t.”

Garlan glared at him. “She won’t, you know she won’t. You’ve been pretty belligerent these past few days, you know that? It’s starting to get on my nerves.”

Willas sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Leonette thinks you should pay more attention to Lady Celia. It’s best if you at least act like you mean to go through with it.”

Willas pondered that for a moment. In truth, it was taking everything he had to keep away from Lady Celia. He had forgotten himself that day in the library, but for the next two days after that he had forced himself to avoid her, despite his misgivings. No doubt it was that fact that was causing his bad mood.

“Maybe she’s right,” he said at last, giving in. “I’ll need some pretext if I’m to talk to her, though.”

“Surely you can think of something with that big brain of yours,” Garlan laughed, grinning once more. Willas gave him a pained look.

“If you’re not going to be helpful, go away.”

“Fine. Walk with her in the gardens or sail down the Mander or something. Girls love that kind of thing.”

Willas raised his eyes to where Celia was laughing and jesting with her cousins. “Really?”

“Gods, you’re worse than Loras,” Garlan groaned. “Yes, really. How can you be five-and-twenty and still not know how to talk to girls? Ask her when we get back to the castle.”

So that was how Willas found himself standing outside the door to Lady Celia’s chambers for the second time in five days, leaning heavily on his cane. The lion-helmed guard had told him she was indisposed at present, but would be ready to receive him in a few minutes. Willas felt sure it had been at least five since then, but he could hardly blame her for making him wait. He’d ignored her for almost three days now, and the guilt was eating him away. It was not in his nature to be cruel or inconsiderate.

When the door opened, it was one of Lady Celia’s cousins that greeted him. The younger one, he thought; she was little and doll-like, with a great mane of pale blonde curls and blue eyes instead of the Lannister green.

“Lady Celia apologises for the wait, my lord,” she said shyly, looking up at him through thick lashes. Willas cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“It’s quite alright,” he replied, unsure how to proceed.

“Gods be good, Myri,” a voice called from inside the room. “Let him in the bloody door already.”

The maiden moved aside to allow Willas inside. He found a small group of women sat on chairs and couches in the little room, sipping lemon water and eating melon ices. He knew the older women to be Lady Crakehall, Lady Lefford and Lady Darlessa Marbrand, and he was familiar with Desmera Redwyne, who greeted him in her usual giggly fashion. Lady Celia was sat in the centre of the group, with her septa seated to her left and Lady Leonette to her right.

“My lord, let me introduce my cousins, Lady Myrielle and Lady Cerenna,” she said cooly, gesturing to the blue eyed girl who let him in, and a young woman dressed in green who regarded him with her own narrowed blue eyes. Willas bowed awkwardly to them, his leg aching dully. Climbing those steps had not been kind to him.

Leonette was smiling brightly at him. “It’s wonderful to see you here Willas,” she gushed unsubtly.

“Thank you, sister,” Willas responded stiffly. “Lady Celia, I...I was hoping we might talk in private?” He had not thought to face her here, surrounded by her ladies. Even the older women were regarding him with hostile looks, especially Darlessa Marbrand, and Desmera Redwyne was whispering and giggling with Myrielle Lannister as they watched him. No doubt word of his visit would be the talk of the castle within the hour.

“Why in private, my lord?” Celia asked him with a look of innocent confusion Willas felt sure was feigned. “Surely whatever you have to say can be said in front of my ladies?”

_Seven save me._ “I, ah...well, I suppose so. I was wondering…” Suddenly, the notion of showing her the gardens seemed utterly ridiculous. _She’s already been here a week, she must have seen enough garden to last a lifetime._

“Yes?” said Lady Celia. All her ladies were staring at him now, waiting for him to say something. Willas felt himself go red, but at that moment he suddenly found inspiration.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go riding with me? Our horses are the finest in the Seven Kingdoms, and I’m sure you haven’t had time to visit the stables yet, what with all the wedding preparations taking up so much of your time.” Willas felt a great sense of relief. Riding and horses were his territory, not sitting rooms full of noble ladies. If he could get her somewhere he felt comfortable, away from all these eyes on them, he felt sure he could make up for his earlier indiscretions.

Lady Celia looked surprised. Clearly she had expected him to stutter some lame excuse and retire. “I - I’m afraid I’m not much of a rider, my lord.”

“I’m not the finest horseman, in truth, but I get along alright. I’m sure we can find you a suitable mount, quiet and obedient, perfect for an amateur. And the lands surrounding the castle are very beautiful from horseback.”

“Well, if Septa Evelyn approves…” She glanced to her left nervously, but her septa nodded with a sanctimonious smile.

“As long as you are well guarded, my dear.”

“Well, in that case...I would be delighted, my lord. Pray give me a few moments to change into something more appropriate.”

“Of course,” said Willas, feeling enormously pleased with himself. “I’ll meet you in the stables, my lady. I’ll have some guards wait to escort you there.” _Can’t talk to girls, can’t I?_ Leonette gave him a grin of encouragement as he left, and even Lady Desmera looked a little impressed.

Willas did not need to wait in the stables nearly as long as he thought he would. Within ten minutes Lady Celia appeared, flanked by two guards in Tyrell green and gold. She was wearing a green velvet riding habit that brought out her eyes and an anxious expression.

“Don’t be scared, my lady,” he said upon seeing her face, “Marigold is the quietest mount in our stables.I promise she’ll look after you.” Her watched as her face changed from apprehensive to delighted as she saw the horse she was to ride. He could hardly blame her. Marigold was the pride of his stables, a sweet-natured golden palomino mare with clean lines and a lovely slender head. Her saddle and bridle were supple green leather, with brass clasps polished to a golden sheen. Lady Celia approached with a shy smile.

“We match,” she exclaimed in delight, moving to stroke the mare’s flowing gold mane. Her head swung round sharply, and Lady Celia stepped back nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Willas said quickly, moving to intervene. “She won’t bite you. Hold out your hand for her to smell, let her get used to you. That’s it.”

Lady Celia laughed as Marigold brushed her outstretched palm with a velvet nose. Carefully, she moved her hand up to stroke the mare’s face, glancing back at Willas every so often for encouragement. Her earlier frostiness had melted away, and Willas found himself growing more relaxed by the second.

“Hugh, bring Bracken out for me please.” His brothers both rode spirited stallions or flighty palfreys into battle and in the lists, but they were too much horse for Willas. He could scarcely bend his right leg anymore, which meant it had to be held in place by straps when he rode, and without mobility in both his legs he hadn’t a hope of controlling some huge, willful stallion. His mount was a gentler sort of beast, a friendly dark bay gelding he’d had from a foal. Willas had trained Bracken to obey commands from the reins instead of his legs, and he was the only horse in the stables that Willas could ride safely. He waited until the stableboy had seen Lady Celia safely onto Marigold, and then allowed Hugh to help him mount up.

Lady Celia arranged herself carefully, spreading her long skirt over Marigold’s hindquarters and collecting her reins. Willas leaned over to correct her.

“Hold them with your little finger below and your thumb on top, like you’re balancing a tray of drinks on top of it. That’s right.”

They crossed the yard at a slow walk, their guards following on their own mounts. Willas was pleased to see Marigold behaving herself perfectly, holding her head in a beautiful arch and never looking around at anything. As they clattered over the drawbridge Lady Celia seemed a little tense, but she soon calmed down when she saw how settled Marigold was. The beauty of the Reach spread out before them; a tableau of rolling hills, placid lakes and picturesque woodland, its fields quartered with green grass, golden wheat and rainbows of wildflowers.

They rode in silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the countryside. Willas thought about how best to strike up a conversation; the entire point of the ride was so they could talk, after all. He felt the need to apologise for breaking off their earlier conversation in the library, and his neglect of her the past few days, but it hadn’t been that long since his last apology to her for leaving her at their first meeting. If he wasn’t careful, soon the only word she’d hear from him would be ‘sorry’. _And who will be to blame for that?_

He studied her out of the corner of his eye. In truth, she was utterly mystifying to him; at their first meeting she’d seemed a quiet, frightened little thing, at the feast she’d been by turns cold and stiff, and then warm and enthusiastic, in the library she’d been friendly, witty and intelligent, and finally back in her sitting room she’d been almost cruel. But who was she really? Was he likely to get the time to find out?

He cleared his throat and glanced backward. Their guards were a little way off, just out of earshot round a bend in the track. He seized the opportunity.

“My lady, may we talk frankly?”

Lady Celia took her eyes off the road to look at him. “Of course, my lord.”

Willas took a deep breath. “I’m very ashamed of how I’ve been treating you, my lady. You are to be my wife, and I should be using these few weeks to get to know you and make you feel welcome in your new home. Instead I’ve hardly talked to you.”

“I understand, my lord. You have a lot on your mind, what with the troubles in the realm and the wedding to prepare for. Your dedication to your duties is admirable.”

“Even so, you have a right to expect better treatment. I vow I shall make more of an effort from now on.”

A half-smile crept onto Lady Celia’s face. “You make it sound as though I’ve been locked in my room with only bread and water to eat all this time. I assure you, my lord, I feel very welcome here in Highgarden. However, if we are truly speaking frankly…”

“Please, my lady, tell me what you will.”

“Well, then...I confess when you left the library that day, I feared I must have offended you in some way. Indeed,” she said, a blush rising in her cheeks, “Even after our first meeting, I felt I must have done something wrong. If you will forgive me for saying so, it did distress me, to think that I had already made such a bad impression on you.”

Willas couldn’t imagine the triumphantly vindictive young woman he’d encountered in the sitting room feeling distressed over him, but he could see the truth of it in her eyes, and it made him feel even guiltier than he already did. _Leonette and Garlan are right, I really have been behaving appallingly. What did this poor girl ever do to deserve all this?_

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said softly. “You have done nothing to deserve my displeasure at all. As you say, my duties are demanding, and if I seem cold or standoffish it is not my intent, but merely a symptom of pressure I am under. I know that is no excuse.”

“It is forgotten. Not many men would stoop to apologise so profusely for their actions, I know. It is very admirable of you.” She turned her head to look him in the eye. “Shall we start over? Perhaps you should begin calling me Celia, since we are to be husband and wife.”

Willas felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. “That seems appropriate, my - ah, Celia.”

She grinned, green eyes teasing him. “Perhaps ‘my Celia’ is a little too familiar to begin with.”

He had to laugh at that. “Just a little,” he agreed. He glanced behind once more, to where their guards were lagging well behind. “We’ll be back by midnight at this rate,” he told Celia, filled with a sudden burst of rebellion. “What do you think about picking up the pace and leaving those two behind?”

Celia went a little pale. “I’m not sure I have the nerve to go much faster than this,” she confessed.

“Don’t worry. Just put your heels to Marigold a little, and she’ll do the rest. I promise she won’t run away with you, on my honor as a Tyrell.”

She gave him a shaky smile and nodded. Willas put his heels to Bracken and urged him into a trot, and then into canter. Marigold pricked up her ears and matched their pace with barely any provocation from Celia, and Willas was pleased to hear his betrothed whoop with excitement as they sped down the road, kicking up dust. Their guards did not seem to have noticed that their lord had left them far behind; Willas made a mental note to chastise them for being so lax later, but for the moment he was enjoying himself so much that he couldn’t bring himself to care. It had been a long time since he had felt so carefree.

They shot down the road, speeding up a little with every stride, and Willas had to make sure to check Bracken a little so Celia still felt safe. As the road widened out into a wide plain filled with wild grasses and flowers that brushed their horses stomachs, Celia slowed to a trot and Willas did the same.

“Is everything alright?”

“I...I’m not sure,” Celia replied. “She stumbled on the road and now she’s limping.”

“She might have thrown a shoe.” Inwardly, Willas cursed. Everything had been going so well. “Hold on, let me check.”

He undid the straps that secured his bad leg with a practised hand, and slid from the saddle, letting Bracken graze as he limped over to Marigold. Celia held her still, leaning down from her saddle to watch anxiously as he picked up the leg the gold mare was favouring and examined her hoof.

“Damn it,” he cursed quietly. Her shoe was gone; they would have to go back on foot, and quickly, to ensure she didn’t hurt herself.

“Is she hurt?”

Willas smiled up at Celia. “No, but she’s lost a shoe. I’m sorry, you’ll have to dismount. You don’t mind riding pillion?”

Celia blushed. “No, not at all,” she said, “But I fear you’ll need to help me down. As I said, I’m not much of a rider.”

“You’re really not, are you?” Willas laughed. She smiled ruefully.

“I suppose I've always preferred to travel in the wheelhouse. When I was younger I hardly ever rode, and when I did it was only around the yard, usually with Jaime holding my leg to keep me on. As I got older it became more of a necessity, but I've never truly enjoyed it...until today, that is. ”

“You’ve been doing remarkably well then,” Willas smiled, holding out his arms to lift her from the saddle and trying to ignore his leg, which was throbbing horribly. Celia slid her foot from the stirrup and turned around in the saddle, placing her hands on Willas’ shoulders.

“Go on. I’ve got you,” he said gently, but just as she put her weight on him he felt a shooting pain go up his leg. It went out from underneath him and they tumbled to the ground together.

Willas was keenly aware of Celia’s weight pressed against him as they lay there. He was sure his face was glowing bright red as she pushed up a little.

“I’m so sorry,” they said in unison, and then laughed nervously. They lay there, not making any movement to get up, breathing heavily.

“Are you hurt?” Celia asked breathlessly. Her hairpins had all come out, and her golden curls tumbled over her shoulder and curtained Willas’ left side from the world. He could feel them brush against his cheek.

“No,” he said, his voice sounding dim and far away to his own ears, over the rushing of his blood. “Are you?”

“No,” she replied in an equally small voice. He could see every mark on her flushed cheeks, every soft eyelash, every gold fleck in her pale green eyes. Her eyes really were incredibly green. A kind of madness gripped him then, and he reached up to cup her chin with his fingers and closed his eyes, bringing her lips down to brush over his. The soft touch of her lips sent chills down his spine, and he held her there for a year, or maybe only a second, before they broke apart.

_Oh, seven hells._

She held herself up on her arms, staring at him. Her lips and cheeks were a deep pink, and her pupils were huge and dark. A soft smile was creeping across her lips, but as they lay there she seemed to come to her senses. She stood up, brushing down her dress and adjusting her collar nervously, unable to look him the eye.

“I - I’m sorry -”

“No, no, it was my fault -”

They stuttered their awkward apologies, and Willas fought the insane urge to laugh. _Well, now you’ve really done it,_ he thought to himself. _What will you tell her now? ‘I’m sorry my lady, I know I kissed you, but it turns out I won’t be able to marry you after all, so you’d better go back home?’ I’m sure that will go down brilliantly…_

They must have looked a sight as they led their mounts back down the road, Celia with her hair tumbling down her shoulders, Willas with his tunic untucked and grass in his hair, both of them bright red. If their guards saw their disheveled state, they made no comment on it, instead apologising profusely for falling behind. Willas dismissed their concerns with a wave of his hand, all thoughts of anger driven from his head. The only person he could be angry at was himself, for doing something so incredibly stupid. _Going riding, just the two of us? What in seven hells was I thinking? I’m supposed to be_ avoiding _attachment to her, not encouraging it...damn you Garlan, that’s the last time I listen to you…_

But in truth he knew his brother was not to blame. He had wanted to spend more time with her since they had talked in the library, and Garlan’s encouragement had only been the excuse he needed. Miserable, he ate his meal alone in his solar and sat there brooding long after the sun had gone down. His choice, already difficult, had now become impossible. He knew for sure now that given time, he could fall deeply in love with Celia Lannister, and the possibility of that future was a knife in his side, twisting cruelly as he pondered the choice ahead of him.

He could not say how he managed to fall asleep, but he must have eventually, for he was woken late in the morning by his manservant walking in abruptly, clearing not expecting his lord to be still sat in his solar.

"Pardons, my lord, I know it's late, I was just coming to wake you -"

"It's quite alright, Tomard," Willas sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His mouth was dryer than a desert, and sharp pains shot up his leg whenever he moved.

"My lord, Lord Hightower has arrived. You're expected downstairs, to greet him."

Willas looked outside through the window and saw how high the sun was already.

"Seven  _hells,_ " he swore loudly. No doubt they were all waiting on him. Lord Hightower was a proud and prickly man at the best of times, he would see Willas' lateness as an insult. He dressed as quickly as he could and limped downstairs, foregoing breakfast in favour of making it to the entrance chamber in time. When he arrived in the entrance chamber he found the household already assembled, all the lords and ladies of the Reach talking quietly to one another as they waited for Willas to arrive. He easily spotted Lady Celia, who was wearing a lemon gown that went beautifully with her blonde hair. She gave him a shy smile when she saw him, and Willas felt a surge of guilt and ducked his head to avoid her gaze as he strode past her to where his family waited. His mother gave him a look as he took his place beside his family, and Garlan glanced sideways at him with a look of concern.

"Gods, you look awful. What  _happened?"_ he whispered.

_"_ I'll explain later," Willas replied in the same hushed voice, as the herald announced the arrival of Lord Leyton Hightower and his family.

The various introductions seemed to take an age, and by the end Willas' patience and his tolerance for the pain in his leg were both wearing thin. He escaped as soon as he could and made quickly for his chambers, ignoring Garlan's confused looks and his mother's concerned ones, determined to find the maester and get some milk of the poppy for his leg as soon as he could. His plans went awry, however, when he ran into Celia, coming down the corridor in front of him. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach as she smiled at the sight of him. He couldn't stand looking at her warm, hopeful expression, knowing he would be forced to break her heart.

"My lady," he acknowledged stiffly, hoping to avoid a conversation with her, but it seemed she would not be deterred.

"My lord, it is good to see you," she said, smiling up at him."I was worried when you were late. Is aught amiss?"

"No, my lady, thank you for asking."

"I am glad we have this chance to talk." She blushed prettily, lowering her gaze. "I am sorry for what happened yesterday. I fear I overstepped my bounds."

It was Willas' turn to blush. "No, my lady, the fault was mine," he said, dreading what he was about to say, but knowing he must say it. "I'm afraid I may have given you the wrong impression."

She blinked at him, clearly confused. "The wrong impression, my lord?" she repeated in mystified tones.

"Yes," he said, the words rushing out of him in a effort to get it all over with. "My lady, what happened yesterday was a mistake, I see that now. I fear I went too far, and it is my wish that we forget the whole incident. In fact, it may be best that we spend some time apart from now on."

Celia looked shocked and pale. "But my lord, just yesterday you said -"

"I know what I said," he replied forcefully. Celia stepped back, her expression growing cold, and Willas felt a shiver go through him as she lifted her chin defiantly, regarding him with piercing green eyes that were bright with unshed tears. The effect was chilling; as if she was staring right into his soul.  _Yes, she is Tywin Lannister's neice alright,_ he thought to himself.

"My lord," she said in stiff, dignified tones, clearly trying to hold back her emotions, "If I have displeased or offended you in some way, I would appreciate it if you told me outright, instead of going backwards and forwards in this manner. I do not appreciate being humiliated in this way."

"My lady, it was not my intent to humiliate you -" he began in a softer voice, but she interrupted him.

"Nevertheless, you did. Perhaps you are right, my lord," she finished curtly, turning away from him. "I think it is best that we do not talk for a while." And she strode off in a swirl of lemon silk, leaving Willas standing there, red-faced and feeling wretched.


	9. Leonette II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia's unhappiness forces Leonette to give up her secret, with surprising results.

Highgarden was buzzing with activity, every servant in the castle occupied as the last week before the wedding began, but the magnificent gardens were as tranquil and still as ever. Leonette could see that every woman assembled there was glad of the respite from the chaos in the castle, and none more so than Celia, who sat in the center of her little group of ladies, listening to their gossip and chatter with a far-away expression. They were all sat on soft cushions on the lush green lawn that sprawled beneath the north side of the inner wall. All around them, Highgarden’s ladies were talking, playing ball games or practising archery. The sound of hammers drifted over the walls from the tourney ground, where men had been hard at work building the galleries and lists since the morning, and the sun beat down brightly.

Leonette was enjoying the company of the Westerlands ladies enormously. She liked nothing better than getting to know new people, and the companions of Willas’ young bride were an interesting group. The older ladies, Lady Alysanne Lefford and Lady Sheira Crakehall, were a distinguished pair, quiet and reserved for the most part. Closest to Celia in familial ties if not in age was Lady Darlessa Marbrand, older sister to Celia’s late mother and widow of her uncle Tygett. It was clear Lady Celia looked to her as a mother, and their close relationship was touching to see.

The two ladies closest to Leonette and Celia in age were Cerenna and Myrielle Lannister, sisters who were Celia’s distant cousins. Lady Myrielle was five-and-ten, and enthusiastic about life as only a girl of that age could be. She was enchanted with life at Highgarden, deeply infatuated with Ser Horas Redwyne, and had a habit of pronouncing everything “so very romantic”, which caused her older sister to roll her eyes continuously. Lady Cerenna was a year older than Leonette and still unwed, which didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She had a sharp, cynical wit and an eye for spotting people’s flaws; her observations and impressions of people left even serious Lady Alysanne in tears of laughter.

Today Cerenna’s target was Ser Horas, which Myrielle was not pleased with.

“Leave him alone, Cerenna! I thought he rode very well -”

“He fell off at the first hedge we came to! Thank the Seven we never caught the fox, the sight of it might have caused him to fall off in shock.”

“You’re awful. Ser Horas isn’t a natural horseman, it’s not his fault.”

“Only the gods know how he won his spurs, he’s such a dreadful rider. Maybe they knighted him out of pity.”

“They did not! He’s an excellent swordsman, and archer.”

“He ought to be, he’s terrible at everything else.”

Everyone was laughing, even Ser Horas’ own sister Desmera, who had pronounced herself Myrielle’s best friend at the first opportunity and had been attached to Celia’s little group ever since. Myrielle herself was glaring at her older sister.

“You’ll be eating your words when he wins the tourney and crowns me the queen of love and beauty. You’ll see.”

“Don’t be stupid Myri,” Cerenna countered lazily, “That freckled fool will never win, not with Lucion in the lists. And even if he did, there’s never a queen of love and beauty at a wedding.”

Myrielle’s face fell at that. “Of course, I’d forgot. It’s such a shame, Celia. Maybe next time there’s a tourney, Lord Willas will win, and then he can crown you his queen of love and beauty - it’ll be so very romantic!”

Celia gave her younger cousin a cold look. “I fear not,” she said in an icy voice. “Lord Willas does not enter the lists anymore, and if he did I doubt he would think to crown me.” With that, she got up and stalked away from the group, back into the inner ward of the castle.

Cerenna rolled her eyes at her sister. “Now you’ve done it. Do you ever think about your words, or do you just blurt out the first thing that comes into your head?”

Myrielle’s lip began to wobble, and her eyes filled with tears. “I never meant to give offense,” she said in a small voice. “I suppose I just didn’t think...oh, Celia must hate me now…”

Lady Sheira put an arm around her shoulders. “Never mind sweetling, I’m sure Lady Celia is just feeling a little stressed,” she said soothingly. “No doubt by dinner it will all be forgotten.”

“What did she mean by ‘I doubt he would think to crown me’, though?” said Desmera Redwyne, leaning forward with a conspiratorial air. “Do you think they’re not getting along?”

“Never you mind,” Leonette said sharply. Desmera was a notorious gossip; it would not do to have her discover Willas’ doubts about the wedding. She was right, though - Celia’s comment did not bode well. If the Lannisters discovered that Willas meant not to go through with the wedding, things could get very ugly. _Gods damn you, Willas,_ she thought to herself. _What have you said to her?_

Lady Darlessa got up. “Well, I best go after her and see what the matter is,” she sighed.

“No, let me, my lady,” said Leonette quickly. If Celia said something to her aunt, it would surely reach the ears of Ser Damon Lannister within the hour, and then what would become of them?

Lady Darlessa regarded her. “Yes, perhaps she would prefer to talk to you. You two do seem to get on well.”

Leonette hid her relief with a smile. “Don’t worry - I’m sure Lady Celia is just tired from all the fuss being made.” The whirlwind of preparations were enough to make the most steadfast of women exhausted. Just this morning they had been in the sept listening to the septon instruct Celia and Willas on their roles in the ceremony for nearly two hours. They had looked stiff and uncomfortable next to each other then, Leonette remembered. She frowned to herself as she strode across the grass to the postern gate and across the yard.

Several knights were practising their swordsmanship in the yard when she entered; Leonette recognised the sigils of House Lannister, House Crakehall and House Banefort in combat with three knights from House Blackbar, House Hightower, and House Redwyne respectively. They must have been sweltering in their heavy suits of plate - the day had started off cool, but by midday the clouds had blown away, leaving the day almost uncomfortably hot. The Westerlands knights were winning, she noted; the Blackbar and Hightower knights were being forced back by Crakehall and Banefort, while the Lannister and Redwyne knights fought a hard pressed battle in the centre of the yard. Blackbar and Hightower yielded, and when they took off their helms Leonette recognised Ser Garth Hightower and Ser Leo Blackbar, who watched as she did the fight between the Lannister knight -  who Leonette could only assume was Ser Lucion, given that the only other Lannister knight in Highgarden was old Ser Damon -  and the Redwyne knight. _They are well matched, but Lannister is more brutal,_ she thought, wincing as the lion-helmed knight rained down a flurry of vicious blows on his opponent’s helm. Redwyne went to one knee, raising his sword above his head to deflect a side cut that would have taken off his head, had they not been fighting with tourney swords. Finally, Redwyne was forced to yield, and remove his helm. Leonette saw he was one of Lord Paxter’s twins, but whether he was Lady Myrielle’s Horas or his twin Ser Hobber she could not tell.

Ser Lucion waved her over, and Leonette approached a little warily. Relations between the Lannister retinue and the lords of the Reach had so far been friendly, but Leonette feared that would change quickly if Willas outright refused to marry Celia. She prayed he had the good sense to see that.

“Well met, Lady Leonette,” Ser Lucion greeted her. “Are you seeking your husband? I fear you just missed him - he soundly beat Ser Tybolt here, and then went off to find some food.” The young Crakehall knight did look frustrated, Leonette noted.

“Actually I was seeking your dear cousin Lady Celia. You didn’t see her pass this way?”

“I fear not, my lady,” the handsome blond knight replied, “But then I was rather occupied with this rabble. Is aught amiss?”

_I pray not, for all our sakes,_ Leonette thought grimly. But to Ser Lucion she smiled and said: “No, but I fear there will be if she is late for this latest dress fitting.”

Ser Lucion laughed at that. “Well, good luck finding her. Celia has little patience for standing around getting stuck with pins, I fear. Most like she’s run off and hid somewhere.”

“I hope I find her soon, or her septa will be most displeased with her. Thank you for your help, ser.”

_If it comes to swords, that one will be the most trouble,_ Leonette thought as she set off searching for Celia once more. The Lannisters had not brought many armed men with them to Highgarden, but among the ones that had, Ser Lucion was without a doubt the most formidable. The lords of the Westerlands all had distinguished reputations as warriors as well, especially Lady Celia’s grandfather, Lord Damon Marbrand. If he was called on to defend his granddaughter’s honor, Leonette had no doubt that House Tyrell would come off worse. _If Willas sees sense it will not come to that, gods willing._ But it wasn’t just Willas that was the problem. Leonette had often noticed her husband running off to “talk” with Willas and their grandmother, which meant that Lady Olenna was putting pressure on Willas to decide, Leonette knew. She wished Lady Alerie would step in and put a stop to Olenna’s meddling, but of late Willas had been neglecting to invite his mother to these “talks”, preferring instead to listen solely to the advice of the Queen of Thorns.

Leonette’s worries carried her to the godswood, a walled garden on the east side of the inner wall. The door was painted to look like the wall it was set in - bricks of pale stone covered in ivy. A stranger’s eye might slide straight past it at a distance, which was the point. In the event that the castle was taken, Highgarden had several secret rooms and gardens the people of the castle might hide in, and the godswood was one of them. Leonette, however, had lived in this castle since she was seven-and-ten, and she knew what to look for. Her hand easily found the hidden handle, and she pushed the door inwards without a sound. What made her look for Celia in there, she did not know, but she entered all the same.

The godswood was a beautiful, airy garden, filled with slender trees and carpeted with flowers. Beams of sunlight streamed down through the ceiling of green leaves, and birdsong filled the air along with the scent of a hundred different kinds of wildflowers, and the sound of the little stream trickling through the wood and out into the gardens of the middle wall. Leonette felt instantly soothed by the calm, serene atmosphere, as she always did whenever she came here. She strolled through the trees to the centre of the godswood, where three weirwoods grew together, wrapped and tangled together so tightly that they looked like one great tree. There, cooling her feet in the clear pool beside the heart tree, Leonette found Celia Lannister.

“Celia,” she called softly, alerting the younger girl to her presence. She turned swiftly, long gold curls swinging around her face. When she saw Leonette, she turned away and gazed once more into the depths of the pool.

“You must give my apologies to my ladies,” she said in a quiet voice. “I hope Myrielle did not take my outburst too hard. I know she meant no harm.”

Leonette sat on the grass beside her. “She was mystified by your reaction,” she told her. “As were the rest of us. I think I may know the cause of your distress, however. What did he say to you?”

“It’s not what he said...it’s how he acted,” Celia said slowly, staring into the dark green depths of the pool.

“And how did he act?”

“Maddeningly!” Celia cried, smashing a fist into the grass. “One minute everything’s going so well, we’re talking, we’re laughing, we’re…” Suddenly she blushed and fell quiet, then started again in a lower voice. “Then he tells me he thinks it best that we spend some time apart.” Her voice grew rough with frustration. “We’re to be married at the end of the week, and he thinks it best we spend some time _apart?_ It makes no sense, _he_ makes no sense... _”_ Tears filled her eyes and glided down her cheeks, leaving shining trails that she roughly wiped away. “I don’t know what I could have done to make him hate me so.”

_You’ve done nothing, sweet girl, and he doesn’t hate you. In fact I think he starting to feel the opposite, and that’s why he cannot bear to talk to you, for fear he’ll have to give you up._ The secret Garlan had made her promise to keep was eating her away from the inside. How could she let the poor girl carry on thinking Willas’ behaviour was her fault, when she knew the truth of it?

“It’s not you, sweetling, it’s just that -”

“It’s just _what?_ What explanation could there possibly be?”

Leonette took a deep breath and forced herself to look at Celia’s tear stained, angry face.

“Willas fears he may not be able to marry you.”

Celia’s expression changed from furious to confused. “Why on earth wouldn’t he be able to marry me?”

“Things aren’t as simple as you think, between House Tyrell and House Lannister.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here, to wed Willas and strengthen our alliance.”

“But that’s just the problem. If...if Queen Cersei should lose her grip on the Iron Throne, it could make House Tyrell’s position...difficult…” Leonette struggled to phrase it in a way the young girl could understand, but she needn't have bothered. Celia picked up her meaning easily enough.

“If my family is no longer in power, then we become useless to the Tyrells,” she said in a flat, expressionless voice. “But if Willas is married to me, he can’t break the alliance. So he keeps me around for as long as I’m useful to him, and as soon as it seems like my family is losing power, he’ll drop me.”

Leonette was horrified. “No, _no,_ that’s not what it is at all...it’s Lady Olenna, she thinks it would be best to break the alliance, but Willas wants to keep faith, he wants to marry you -”

“Then why doesn’t he then!” Celia’s shout frightened the birds flocking in the trees above their heads, and they took flight as one.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Leonette said miserably. _Gods be good, what have I done? I should never have opened my mouth…_

Celia’s shoulders shook with sobs, but she covered her mouth to hide the noise, her head buried in her arms. Leonette tentatively placed an arm around her shoulders, but Celia shook it off, raising her head to glare at Leonette.

“Don’t,” she snarled, rubbing her tears away roughly. Leonette moved away in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to help…”

“I know, I…” Celia sighed. “I shouldn’t have let you see me cry. In the library, and today…” She trailed off, staring blankly into the distance. “I remember the day my father left,” she said, so quietly that Leonette had to strain to hear her. “We all waited on the dock in Lannisport to see him off...he told me that if I was patient, and good, he’d come back with presents for me. Silk dresses from Pentos, perfumes from Qarth, gemstones from Mereen, petrified dragons eggs...he told me I just had to wait a little while for him, and he’d come back to me. I cried all the same. By the end, I could hardly see his ship leave the harbour, I was weeping so much. I stood there, shaking with sobs, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw my uncle Tywin. He told me, ‘Stop that silly noise. You’re a Lannister, and Lannisters do not cry.’ And I never cried again...until…”

She stood up abruptly, and Leonette saw that her tears had dried, and her expression was calm and determined. Celia brushed off her dress and turned to her.

“You never saw me cry,” she told her firmly. Leonette nodded silently. She watched as Celia Lannister walked briskly from the godswood, a slender figure clad in pale pink silk, until she vanished between the trees.

Leonette sat silently beside the heart tree for a while after, thinking. Whether she had done the right thing in telling Celia the truth, she could not say, but her heart felt lighter for it. It was good that she knew now, and she could choose what to do for herself, instead of being led on by others. Perhaps now Willas would be forced to decide one way or the other, and they could end this mummer’s farce. She stayed there for hours, until it was past midday, when she suddenly realised that she was late for Celia’s final dress fitting in her solar. With a start, she jumped up, and made her way as fast as was seemly from the godswood to Celia’s solar.

She was hurrying down a corridor, paying no mind to her surroundings at all, when a hand caught her arm and stopped her. Leonette looked up to see Willas stood there.

_Seven save me, what shall I tell him? I swore I would keep it a secret, I should never have broken my word...and Garlan, how could I have betrayed him? All he told me, he did in confidence, I took advantage of his trust in me…_

All this she thought in a matter of seconds, before she registered that Willas was smiling at her.

“It was you that told Celia,” he said quietly. It was not a question. Leonette nodded.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything -”

“No, it was the right thing to do. Thank you, Leonette,” Willas replied. “If you hadn’t said anything to her...I might have done something I regretted. You had the heart to do what I could not, and I can never thank you enough. I must take my leave of you; you have a dress fitting to get to, I know, and I have a few things to say to my grandmother.”

Leonette stared after him in astonishment as he strode down the corridor. It seemed to her that he looked happier and more confident than she had seen him in days, weeks even.

When she entered the solar, the fitting was in full swing. As many ladies that could be fitted in the small, round room were there, chattering and giggling, all admiring the sumptuous gown worn by the slender young girl in the centre of the room. Celia looked much happier than when Leonette had seen her last, and when Leonette entered she smiled and beckoned her over.

“Leonette, you’re here! I was wondering where you had gotten to. Do you like it?” she asked happily, gesturing to the beautiful wedding gown. Leonette did, very much. The gown Celia would wear for the ceremony was cloth of gold to match her red maiden’s cloak and her green bride’s cloak, embroidered down the back and along the train with glittering gold thread. Her hips and bodice were armoured in delicate gold metalwork that accentuated the curve of her hips and breasts, sparkling with rubies that flashed and caught the light whenever she moved. Her arms were bare, but the shoulders of the dress were also embroidered, each with a roaring golden lions’ head. Her necklace was a lion's head as well, wrought in bright Lannisport gold with rubies for eyes. Her arms clinked gently with golden bangles, and a ruby ring adorned her left hand. The dress boasted a tiny bodice, widening out into a huge skirt that seemed to fill the room, with its long train shimmering in the light.

As Leonette came in, the seamistress’ girls brought in the maiden’s cloak, a ponderous garment of heavy crimson velvet, with the lion rampant of House Lannister worked on the back in gold thread. Yet more rubies adorned it, shimmering on the fabric and twinkling in the cloth of gold border. Leonette wondered how Celia’s slim shoulders could possibly support the weight of it all.

When it was all on, Celia turned this way and that, allowing her ladies to admire the fine work. Murmurs of appreciation and flattery came from all corners.

“You look so beautiful!” gushed Lady Myrielle, who had clearly recovered from her earlier shock. “I can’t wait until my wedding day, but I know I won’t look half as lovely as you do Celia!”

Celia smiled at her cousin. “I’m sure you’ll look ten times as lovely.”

“When Willas sees you in this, he won’t be able to help but love you! It’ll be so very romantic!” Myrielle continued, heedless of her older sister’s sighs and eye rolls. Leonette braced herself for Celia’s reaction, and was shocked when her smile, rather than disappearing, brightened up.

“I know he will,” she said, blushing prettily.

It seemed to take an age to get it all off. Leonette had forgotten there was another dress to come. The feast dress was equally as lovely, a smaller copy of the ceremony dress but with a slimmer, but still full, skirt and gold metalwork only on the hips in place of the full bodice. It was made of emerald silk that draped beautifully, covered with tiny golden roses, with miniature thorny stems that covered the whole gown. Each thorn was a tiny metal spike, connected with embroidered vines to delicate cloth of gold roses, that made a thicket on each shoulder, at the back of the skirt and on the base of the bodice. Celia was a vision in this as well, toying with the little golden rose on her necklace and admiring herself in the mirror. The colours of the gown made her hair seem brighter and her eyes more striking.

Leonette couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in the intervening hours between their conversation in the godswood and now to make Celia so happy. She did not think her friend was so vapid as to be cheered up by a couple of new gowns, no matter how lovely they were. And Willas seemed happy as well. How had he learned that Leonette had told Celia? Had she confronted him? Could their happiness mean that Willas had made his decision?

Leonette took her leave as soon as she could and went to find Garlan, hoping her husband could give her some answers. When she got to their chambers she found Garlan inside, but no sooner had she set foot in the door than Garlan swept her up in his arms and kissed her. Mystified, Leonette pulled back in his arms.

“Not you too! Why is everyone in such a good mood all of a sudden?”

“Because of you, sweetling!” Garlan cried, planting another kiss on her forehead. Leonette laughed, pushing him away.

“What did I do?”

“You told her! You did what we were all too stupid or too scared to do and told her, and then she went straight to Willas and confronted him. I don’t know what she said to persuade him, but then Willas went to our grandmother and told her he was marrying the girl, for good or ill, it was happening and he’d take the consequences no matter what. She seemed to accept it, so it’s over, no risk of war with the Lannisters and all that nonsense and heartache is done with as well.” Garlan sat down and pulled her into his arms along with him.

“And that’s good?” she asked him anxiously. He grinned and held her tighter.

“Yes, sweetling, it’s good. Now we can get on with the bloody wedding and get down to the business of driving the ironborn off the Shields. Ser Lucion has pledged his sword, and several other Westerlands knights as well, so we’ll have Lannister swords to help us after all, even though Cersei Lannister told us we’d get no help from her.”

Leonette felt a wave of relief go through her.

“So now all we have to do is look forward to the wedding,” she said happily.

Garlan groaned. “Gods, not another bloody wedding.”

 


	10. Celia IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celia and Willas' wedding day finally arrives, but doubts about the event still linger.

Celia sat, curled up on the window seat of her sitting room with a book in her lap, as the last rays of sunlight lit up the room in Lannister gold and red. Leonette, her aunt Darlessa and Lady Alysanne were talking in hushed voices in one corner, Cerenna and Lady Sheira were playing cyvasse and Myrielle was dropping off to sleep on one of the couches. It was the end of Celia’s last day as an unmarried girl. Tomorrow was her wedding day.

The idea had not fully sank in yet, no matter how Celia twisted and turned it in her mind. It seemed almost impossible that it was actually happening, after all that had happened, all the miscommunication, all the fear and anger… She remembered how a few short days ago, she thought she was going to be sent back home in disgrace, the cause of a war between House Lannister and House Tyrell; and in truth her future still felt uncertain. She still had a choice ahead of her after all - between her old family, all but destroyed by war; and her new family, the family that Willas was offering her, if she was only brave enough to marry him.

She wondered what would happen if she did actually refuse to marry him. Willas would no doubt be gracious about it - he would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to. But would her family really have her dragged against her will to the sept, kicking and screaming? How would they react? The words on the page before her swam, and Celia suddenly realised she’d read the same paragraph four times without taking in a word of it. She closed the book with a snap, and the noise made everyone in the room look at her. Celia cleared her throat.

“I think it’s time I retired. Leonette, would you ask the maids to draw up a bath for me?”

Leonette smiled as she stood. “Of course. You should get as much sleep as you can tonight.”

“Too true,” Cerenna laughed, “For you won’t be getting any sleep for a while.” She walked over to her little sister and woke her. “Come on, child, let’s leave Celia in peace. She’s not the only one who needs to sleep, I think. How will you stay awake for the wedding celebrations tomorrow if you fall asleep at this hour?”

Myrielle yawned and sat up. “I _will_ stay awake,” she pouted. “I fully intend to dance until dawn.”

“I’m sure you do intend it, but I fear you will fall asleep in your soup well before the dancing starts.”

Celia let their bickering fade into the background as Leonette re-entered the room.

“The bath’s almost ready, dear.”

“Thank you. I just suddenly feel so exhausted. Today has been completely mad.”

“I know how you feel. The night before my wedding I had the most awful headache, I thought I was dying. Lady Olenna didn’t help of course. At dinner that night she told me I looked like was going to faint, and that I should save that sort of thing for the wedding night.”

Celia laughed. “I dread to think what comments she’ll have for me in the morning.”

“I’m sure you’ll handle them better than I did, whatever they are.”

“I’m sure _you_ handled them perfectly,” Celia smiled as they headed to her dressing room.

“If by perfectly you mean ‘stuttering and blushing like an idiot’, then yes, I did.”

Celia allowed her maids to remove her dress and unpin her hair, and stepped into the steaming water. The heat soothed her, as did the sensation of having her hair brushed out and washed. The tension in her muscles seemed to dissolve in the hot water. All too soon it was over and she stepped, dripping, from the bathtub and was wrapped in a cotton robe. Her hair was wrung out, combed and braided to prevent it from tangling in the night. Finally, Celia was left all alone in her bed for the last time.

Sleep did not come easy. Her mind replayed that moment over and over and over again.

She was in Willas’ solar, pacing with nerves and rage, scarcely knowing what she was going to say. She stopped when he entered.

“Celia, what -”

“I needed to see you,” she said shortly, cutting him off. He looked at her with a mixture of confusion and sadness.

“What about?” he asked softly.

“I think you must know,” Celia replied, feeling tears prick in the corner of her eyes. She willed them away angrily.

“I swear to you, I do not.”

“Our wedding. You do not wish it to take place,” Celia said, the words tumbling out of her like a waterfall. Once she had started, she found she couldn’t stop. “Why? Why would you accept the offer of my hand in the first place, if you never meant to marry me? Why did you keep me hanging on all this time, why did you -” She stopped short, feeling herself turn red.

“I’m sorry, truly, I - I never wanted to hurt you -”

“Then _why -”_

“Because the situation is more complicated and more delicate than you know!” Celia stopped short, surprised at his interruption.

“I understand the pressure you’re under, but -”

“Do you?” Willas looked half furious, half desperate. “This is not just a simple wedding, Celia. This is me committing my support to House Lannister for good. For as long as you and I are husband and wife, I cannot break faith with your family, even if their enemies are destroying them and taking my House along with them. Do you understand now?”

Celia was silent for a long moment. “So you feel nothing for me, then.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If you cared for me at all, you wouldn’t care if marrying me brought Highgarden crashing down around your head.” Even as she said the words, Celia knew she sounded foolish. “You’d marry me anyway, no matter what the consequences.”

Willas stared at her. “I thought you were more sensible than that. You know why I can’t let my feelings for you cloud my judgement.”

“So...you do have feelings for me.”

Willas gave her a sad smile. “Yes. How ironic. Before you came here, I was terrified that we wouldn’t like each other. And now that you’re here, I find that you’re everything I could have ever wished for, but I have to let you go all the same.”

Celia’s heart was beating so hard, she thought it would burst from her chest. At some point during the conversation, they had moved closer to each other, until Celia could count the faint freckles that dotted his cheeks and see the different shades of brown in his eyes.

“I feel the same,” she said softly. Willas sighed.

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“You’re so frustrating! Why can’t you just marry me? What you fear might never come to pass. You might never need to break the alliance. Why are you throwing away our chance to be happy together because of a maybe?”

“I don’t want to put you in a position where you might one day be in the middle of a war on the opposite side to your family. It’s not fair to you.”

“Don’t you think you should let me decide that? Why do you assume I can’t make that decision for myself? Besides, you’re talking as if we have any choice. My family will destroy yours if this marriage doesn’t go ahead.”

“But if this marriage does go ahead…” He gazed at her for a moment, clearly tormented. “I promise you’ll never be lonely, that you’ll always have me, but...I need you to leave your old family behind. How can I ask that of you?”

Celia bit her lip, thinking silently for a long moment.

“Tell your grandmother that the wedding’s going ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“...No. But until I am sure, we need to pretend that nothing is wrong.”

She had pretended at her dress fitting that everything was fine, but inside she was in turmoil. The choice that lay before her seemed impossible. Willas needed her to be completely loyal to House Tyrell, to forget the family that she loved, but how could she? And yet, what choice did she have, when everyone needed her to marry him, to avoid the bloodshed that would surely follow if House Tyrell broke faith with House Lannister. And then there were her own feelings about Willas to consider, feelings that confused and frightened her even as they delighted her. For days she had fretted without coming to a decision, and Willas must have taken her silence for acquiescence, since she hadn’t called the whole thing off. And now she lay abed, the night before her wedding, still not completely decided.

Before she knew it, her memories had turned to dreams.

She was stood on a long, winding road at twilight. Behind her the road winded through tall mountain peaks, glowing gold in the fading sunlight. Before her, it disappeared into the shadows. On the road behind her, barring the way back, stood her family; her mother and father, Aunt Genna, Tyrion, Jaime. The sun was going down, bathing everything in a warm glow, but they were all in shadow. Celia rushed towards them.

_Mother, Father, what -_

_We’ve come to say goodbye, child._ Though Celia had never known her mother, she had imagined her face often enough. She smiled at her daughter, arm in arm with her husband.

_I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking the same road you are._

_You can’t. Only we can take this road, little one._ Jaime was dressed in his white Kingsguard armour, as he was the last time Celia saw him, a lifetime ago.

_I don’t understand._

_I think you do,_ Tyrion smiled. _You want to go back, but you can’t. None of us can. The only way to go is forward._

Celia glanced back at the road. The shadows were dense and impenetrable, but Celia thought she saw something moving in them. _Please, I don’t want to. I’m afraid._

 _Of what?_ Genna laughed. _You’re perfectly safe. All you need do is be brave enough to take the first step. After that it’s easy._

_But I don’t want to leave you all behind._

_It is us that has left you, sweetling._ Her father’s smile brought tears to her eyes. _Now you must find your own way._

With that, they turned and walked back into the mountains, disappearing into wisps of smoke even as they walked away. Celia cried.

_Don’t leave me! Please!_

Her father turned, his smile sadder than it ever was in life. _We already have._

The sun was almost gone. The mountains were shrouded in darkness, swallowed up by the gloom, but ahead of Celia a light appeared, guiding her way. The path ahead of her was illuminated, and Celia could see fields of green grass and golden roses, swaying in the breeze.

When Celia woke, she knew what her decision was.

The morning of her wedding day was bright, clear and unseasonably warm. Celia was sat up in bed and wide awake before her maids even entered, and chatted happily with them as they brushed out her hair until the golden waves shone, and dressed her in a flowing gown of white and gold silk. Her ladies were waiting in her solar to escort her downstairs to the wedding breakfast.

“Did you sleep well?” Leonette enquired.

“When I finally managed to get to sleep, yes.”

“And how are you feeling?”

Celia smiled at her anxious friend. “Very well, thank you. Excited, I think, and nervous.”

Leonette smiled. “That’s as it should be.”

Celia could hardly eat a thing, although there was plenty of food to choose from. Celia settled for some fruit and water to wash it down with, tuning out the chatter of the ladies all around her.

Her wedding gifts were beautiful - exquisite jewellery, lavender perfume in a delicate crystal bottle, a hand mirror inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a whole new wardrobe of silk dresses in a rainbow of colours. Celia thanked Leonette profusely for her and Garlan’s gift of a decorative dagger, its blade inlaid with silver and handle carved with silver flowers, roses picked out in rubies and forget-me-nots in sapphires.

“It’s beautiful,” Celia exclaimed softly, drawing it from its equally decorative scabbard.

“I’m glad you think so,” Leonette smiled. “I wanted to get you something pretty, and Garlan wanted something practical, so we compromised.”

“Thank him for me. I love it.”

Celia noticed a new package on the pile of gifts in front of her. “Who’s this from?”

Leonette shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw who put it down.”

Celia picked it up. It was a small box, blue enamel with delicate silver hinges. When she opened it, she found three books, stacked on top of each other and tied with a blue ribbon. She grinned, knowing exactly who they were from. The note inside said: _To help you learn more about your new home. I can’t wait to share it with you._

“They’re fairytales from the Reach,” Leonette said, examining the books. “How sweet, I wonder who sent them?”

Celia tucked the note into her dress, smiling to herself. “I don’t know.”

By midday, Celia was back up in her dressing room, preparing for the ceremony, an oasis of calm in the storm of panic that her ladies were in. Her rooms looked like a battleground - dresses and jewellery strewn over chairs and the floor, young girls crying or laughing, women dashing in and out, barking orders at the maids. Myrielle had already burst into tears once over her hair. Only her dressing room was calm. Leonette was overseeing everything, having banished Septa Evelyn after she nearly spilled perfume over Celia’s wedding dress in a panic.

Celia was stood in the centre of the room, allowing the maids to tighten the stays of her heavy golden dress. The metalwork on the bodice was cold to her touch, sparkling in the candlelight. It was hard to sit down with the huge skirt, and Celia was afraid she’d crush the delicate silk, but Leonette reassured her, brushing the creases out with a careful hand. One maid brushed out her hair and then pulled it up into a complicated pile of braids at the back of her head, pulling her hair up to showcase her lion necklace and ruby earrings. Her new lavender perfume was brushed onto her wrists and behind her ears, and she eased the ruby ring and her golden bracelets onto her hands herself. Looking in the mirror, Celia barely recognised herself. A beautiful bride with ruby lips, pale cheeks, wide emerald eyes and hair of spun gold stared back at her from the glass, trembling slightly, like a girl from a song.

Standing up felt strange, like moving through water. Celia felt lost under the layers of heavy fabric. Leonette wrapped the heavy velvet maiden’s cloak around her shoulders, securing it with a gold chain linked to lioness’ heads on each shoulder.

“Are you alright, my dear?” her aunt Darlessa asked gently. Celia nodded silently, nerves swirling with renewed energy in her stomach.

“Don’t worry, child. You look absolutely breathtaking. Today is a very happy day. How I wish your mother were here to see this.”

Celia smiled at her. “Thank you, aunt.”

Downstairs, her cousin Ser Damon and his grandson Ser Lucion were waiting. As her oldest male relative from her father’s family, Ser Damon would give her away to her husband.

“Celia, child, you look exquisite.”

“Thank you, cousin.”

“I’m honored that you would allow me to take the role of your father on this important day. I know he would be very proud of you.”

Someone else said something, maybe Ser Lucion, and Celia smiled absently, but inside she was impatient. All this hanging around was giving her time to doubt her decision, which was the last thing she needed. She just wanted this all to be over and done with.

Highgarden’s sept was beautiful on most days, but today, with the sunlight shining through its stained glass windows and filling the room with a rainbow of light, it looked like the seventh heaven. The pillars were wound with gold and red roses, and the walls draped with the Tyrell rose on green and the Lannister lion, gold on red. The rumble of hundreds of assembled guests talking in hushed tones fell silent as the doors opened and Celia entered on Ser Damon’s arm. Her heartbeat was rushing in her ears, pounding like waves on the shore. As she walked down the aisle, she noticed Leonette, smiling at her proudly, but she couldn’t summon a smile of her own, nervous as she was. She was all too aware of the hundreds of eyes on her, waiting for her to make a mess of things or break under the pressure. But then she raised her eyes to where her future husband stood, and her nerves faded completely.

Willas smiled at her, and Celia couldn’t help but smile back. He was stood with his brother, the sunlight shining on his dark hair, his kind brown eyes focused on her, leaning heavily on his cane. Trembling, Celia stood next to him between the altars of the Father and the Mother, beneath the towering golden statues. Ser Damon carefully removed her maiden’s cloak, and Celia felt the warmth of the sun on her bare arms.

“You may now cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection,” the septon intoned. Celia turned away from him, skirts swishing around her waist. Willas took the emerald silk cloak from his brother and draped it carefully over Celia’s shoulder, but one corner slipped from his hands, and they both reached for it at the same time, hands brushing. Celia glanced over her shoulder at him as he secured the cloak once more, and he winked at her. She smiled, feeling warmth spread through her like liquid sunlight.

She turned back to him, placing on hand on top of his, as the septon wrapped the gold ribbon around them, saying: “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

Celia glanced up at Willas, feeling a faint blush creep into her cheeks.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Maiden, Mother, Crone, Stranger,” she said in unison with him. “I am his, and he is mine; from this day, until the end of my days.”

The septon removed the ribbon, but Willas still clasped her hand. The septon announced in ringing tones: “Let it be known that Celia of House Lannister and Willas of House Tyrell are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

Celia didn’t think it was possible for her heart to beat any faster until Willas moved closer to her.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he said, so softly Celia feared only she could hear him. She went up on her tiptoes so he could kiss her, a gentle brush of his lips on hers, sending chills down her spine and bringing her blood rushing to her cheeks. When they broke apart, Celia saw he was smiling.

Back in her dressing room that night, the warm glow that had surrounded Celia as she walked back down the aisle arm in arm with Willas faded to nerves once again. She could hardly believe she had to sit through a whole seven course meal; she felt like one bite of food would have her throwing up. Leonette shook her head when Celia voiced these concerns.

“You only feel sick because you haven’t eaten all day. I saw you only eat some grapes at breakfast, don’t say that you didn’t. You should eat something plain and simple now, instead of trying to force down the rich food at the feast.” Leonette handed Celia a slice of bread and butter as a maid unlaced her wedding gown, and she chewed and swallowed silently as she stepped out of the dress and into her feast gown. She washed it down with a gulp of lemon water as the emerald silk gown was laced up and was grateful to feel her stomach settle, although she still felt sure she wouldn’t eat a bite of the wedding feast. Her hair was eased out of its updo and brushed out, leaving Celia wincing at her aching roots, and then pulled back with a simple gold tiara. She examined her reflection in the full length mirror, turning back and forth.

“You look beautiful, of course,” Leonette said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And you did perfectly today. Well done.”

“Really? I thought I was going to collapse from the weight of all that cloth-of-gold.”

Leonette laughed. “Well, you did a good job hiding it. You looked perfectly serene.”

Her husband was waiting for her in the Entrance Hall, dressed in green and gold as she was. He smiled when he saw her, holding out an arm for her to take.

“I’m glad you chose to go through with it,” he said quietly in her ear as they walked into the Grand Hall. Celia smiled.

“Were you worried I wouldn’t show up?”

“A little. I thought you might have slipped out of the window and run away.”

“Hardly. If anyone should have worried, it was me. You at least had some choice about this marriage.”

“I think I chose correctly,” Willas said as he held the chair out for her to sit down. “And if you had run away, I promise I would have helped you do it. I want you to be happy in this marriage, Celia.”

“I think I will be,” Celia replied truthfully.

The feast passed by in a blur. Celia sampled a few bites of the feast, but her nerves had returned with a vengeance and forced her to refuse most of the food. The room was too hot, and too full, and Celia felt almost faint. She wasn’t exactly scared of the inevitable conclusion of the night, as she had been when she first came to Highgarden what felt like a thousand years ago. She merely felt a mixture of embarrassment and nerves at the anticipation of the most intimate experience that would happen tonight, and the public ordeal that would precede it. For her, being the centre of attention was exhausting and terrifying; these few weeks had been especially awful because she hadn’t been able to escape the spotlight for even a second. Tonight she would finally be alone with Willas, but before that she would have to survive every eye being on her in the worst way.

She could feel the feast reaching its conclusion as her cousin Lucion lurched to his feet, clearly very drunk.

“And now,” he slurred, flinging his goblet around and  spilling wine on his doublet, “To bed with them!”

The rest of the wedding guests took up the cry, and Celia felt her cheeks burn. Willas squeezed her hand.

“Alright?” he asked softly. She nodded.

“Truly? You don’t have to do this, you know.” Celia was cheered to see that Willas looked just as uncomfortable as she felt.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly and quietly. She slipped her hand from his and forced a smile upon her face, suddenly feeling fortified. All she had to do was get through a few minutes of discomfort and embarrassment, and then her life would finally begin.

A sea of strange men approached and Celia cringed, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and wishing irrationally that Jaime were there to sweep her up onto his shoulders as he had when she was a girl, but then a different figure broke through the crowd and swept her up into his arms.

“Hands off my new sister, you randy lot!” Garlan laughed, and Celia wrapped her arms around his neck to secure herself, smiling gratefully. “I’m here to protect your virtue, my lady,” he whispered in her ear, “At least for these few minutes, anyway.”

Celia had to laugh. “Thank you, ser,” she whispered back. She had already lost both her shoes to the crowd; she helped them remove her dress and stockings, figuring that the quicker they got what they want, the quicker it would be over. They abandoned the beautiful silk gown on the steps up to the room, and Celia couldn’t help but feel a pang as someone stepped on it. She was left in only her shift as they got closer to the chamber, the crowd following her obviously finding it difficult to remove whilst climbing stairs. Still, there were a few drunken tumbles; no doubt tomorrow would find a lot of broken bones and aching heads.

As they reached the door Garlan set her down, and several hands helped her pull her shift over her head, but before she had time to feel embarrassed Garlan had picked her up again and carried her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and setting her down on the bed. She hurried to pull the covers up to her chin, scarcely noticing the petals strewn beneath the sheets and the flickering beeswax candles around the room in her haste to cover herself. Garlan grinned and bowed as he backed out of the door.

“I’m afraid I must leave you to your fate now, my lady,” he smiled.

“Thank you,” Celia said again in a small voice. When the door opened she heard the cheers, laughter and bawdy jokes become sharp for a second; then it closed again and the sound once again was muffled, leaving Celia alone with the flickering candles. She shivered despite the warmth of the night. The feeling of the silk sheets was pleasant on her bare skin, and her nerves were settling to a delicious mixture of anticipation and fear. She felt like a flash of lighting; exposed, shivering, humming with electricity.

When the door opened again she jumped. Willas was shoved in by a giggling crowd of women, his hair a mess, shirt gone. The door shut behind him with a snap, and they looked at each other across the room, drinking each other in. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by bursts of laughter from outside the room.

“So,” Celia said at long last, her voice distant over the pounding of her heart. “I see you survived without losing your breeches.”

Willas laughed, and Celia fully relaxed for the first time that day.

“It was a close thing,” he admitted, sitting down gently on the end of the bed. “It would seem you weren’t so lucky, though.”

Celia’s cheeks were glowing. “I always thought that losing all one’s clothes was the traditional point of the exercise.”

“Maybe it is, but I’m afraid I’ve never been very traditional.” They lapsed into silence once again. Celia admired him, his slender frame, his soft dark curls, his high cheekbones, and realised how lucky she was. The fears she’d had when she was first told she was to marry the heir to Highgarden seemed silly now.

“We can’t just sit here like this forever,” she said quietly.

“No, we can’t.” He moved closer, leaning in to kiss her, and Celia let the covers drop to wrap her arms around his shoulders, melting into him, unafraid for the first time in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, sorry it took so long, things have been crazy IRL lately. The vows are based off Game of Thrones, but everything else should be book-accurate. Thanks for sticking with it so far, and look forward to more drama in the next chapter!


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